


What Peace Brings

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Complete, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mpreg, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-03 23:13:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 53,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the Battle of the Five Armies, Thorin's belief in Bilbo's betrayal has lessened, but not enough to take back his banishment. </p><p>Bilbo Baggins, accompanied by meddlesome wizard Gandalf, journey back toward the Shire with heavy hearts. When they reach Rivendell, Lord Elrond convinces Bilbo to start a new life amongst the peace and plenty in the Hidden Valley. Bilbo agrees, knowing that the child he carries will be endangered on the road and that the warm welcome and healing expertise of the elves will be just what he needs to start anew. </p><p>However, as part of the new found peace amongst Erebor and its neighboring lands, an envoy is sent to Rivendell in gratitude of the shelter they provided the company of Thorin Oakenshield. In this envoy are several members of said company.</p><p>Faced with this reunion, Bilbo must decide if keeping his secret and thereby preserving his heart from possible hurt is more important than forgiving mistakes and moving on from the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [What Peace Brings~始于终焉~](https://archiveofourown.org/works/884238) by [hana0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hana0/pseuds/hana0)



> Hello, everybody! This will be my first contribution to the Hobbit Fanfiction and my first fanfic on Archive!. ☺ I know that many people have done something similar to this kind of plot line, but I really love it and wanted to try my hand at it. I’m no expert on the Tolkien world, so if you see anything that is glaring wrong, please let me know! I will fix it, so long as it doesn't interfere with my plot. As this is an AU, there will be some differences, so expect that. Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy!
> 
> It is midterm time for me, which means I might not have another chapter up for a few days, but spring break is very close and particularly long for my school, so after a week, you can expect fairly regular updates! 
> 
> My plan is for this story to be roughly 13 chapters with an epilogue, but it could end up being more. ☺
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights for any of Tolkien’s work! I am writing this simply for pleasure and earn no profit whatsoever, except for the happiness in my heart!

It was a brisk winter morning the day that Bilbo Baggins, hobbit burglar extraordinaire, and Gandalf the Grey, meddlesome traveling wizard that he is, left the gates of Erebor and traveled down the broken cobblestone streets of the once great city of man, Dale. The sun was barely rising in the sky, rays of gold and red bathing the travelers with warmth, a small protection against the fierce bite of the wind. They traveled lightly in their provisions, riding astride strong ponies laden with satchels and leather pouches. But in many ways, at least for the young hobbit, they traveled with heavy burdens.

Bilbo looked around at the old wreckage of Dale, his bright hazel eyes trailing forlornly over the city’s once beautiful structures and buildings all laid to dust by the wrath of a dragon, and felt a now familiar stinging sensation in his chest. Thorin Oakenshield, now King of Erebor, was still as infuriated by Bilbo’s “betrayal” now, as he had been those fateful nights ago at the stone gates of Erebor. He had refused the hobbit entrance into the royal chambers, not even to inquire about the health of Thorin’s nephews, Princes Fili and Kili.

Bilbo had been abruptly commandeered by Dwalin, newly returned to his position as the King’s personal guard, and had been escorted out of Erebor with barely a by-your-leave. Balin had accompanied the two down the winding stone staircases, embossed with fine veins of precious gems, glaring furiously at his brother all the way. Dwalin had remained as unmoved as the mountain they had just reclaimed, but Bilbo noticed that his grip on the hobbit’s elbow was markedly gentle.

  
When they had reached the gates, Gandalf stood waiting, his wizard staff held in a white knuckled grip and his eyes cold as ice. Dwalin had let go of his arm, turned around, and headed immediately back into Erebor, without so much as a glance back. Balin had stayed, his large, aged hands reaching out for the young hobbit’s shoulders, and brought him in for a warm embrace.

“We’re with you, laddie,” He said softly, releasing Bilbo enough to look into his eyes. “Thorin is not yet seeing sense. He will come to see the error of his ways, I assure you. This is not good-bye. We will see each other again, in much happier times and soon. I promise.”

  
Bilbo had looked into his eyes, not believing in his words but dearly wishing to. He grasped Balin’s hands, feeling warmed by the acceptance in his old friend’s eyes, and smiled as best he was able, for it would be impolite to leave a friend without one, and not even this crazy adventure, full of dwarves, trolls, orcs, elves, and heartbreak had managed to beat the hobbit out of Bilbo Baggins.

  
“Farewell, Balin, son of Fundin. I have been incredibly blessed to have met your acquaintance,” Bilbo replied softly, tears filling his eyes despite his efforts to contain them. Balin had been one of his very close friends during this journey. To leave in such a state of affairs…Bilbo could only feel sadness at this parting. “Could you tell the others…? I fear I will not be able to say so to them myself…”

“Of course, laddie,” Balin assured him. “I will send word to you the second that Fili and Kili are recovered. Hopefully by that time, you will be here to see for yourself. I am confident that…” He trailed off, one wizened hand stroking his long white beard.

They embraced one more time. Balin, even with his somewhat diminutive stature for a dwarf, completely enfolded the smaller hobbit in his arms, painfully reminded again of how much this small being had risked and sacrificed for a group of strangers. Accompanied with that pain was searing anger and disappointment in his King to treat such a valuable friend in such a way. But he pushed it aside for now, not wanting his friend’s last sight of him to be his face twisted in rage. He had loved and followed Thorin for a long time, but found himself unsure if this was the dwarf that he had sworn by. Balin was confident that he could make Thorin see his mistakes and change his mind, but he feared that he would be too late. He watched his friend, shoulders slumped and quivering with what Balin was sure was sorrow, and became resolutely determined to fix this situation.

And so, here they were, Bilbo and Gandalf astride their ponies and headed in the direction of the elven forest Mirkwood, bodies bundled up with warm winter coats and their hearts heavy.

 

************************************************************************************************************

 

With the surprising generosity of the King of Mirkwood and his son, Bilbo and Gandalf made great speed through the dreaded forest with little incident. Despite the beauty of the world around, something that he had previously marveled at on the way, Bilbo found no peace in the beautiful landscape as they traveled to the Hidden Valley, the House of Lord Elrond.

  
Hobbits, as a race, were greatly blessed. They had experienced relative peace for many, many years and had been free of true strife for multiple generations. Always a populous race, hobbits had children aplenty and families full to bursting with members. It was in this fact that laid a closely guarded secret of the Shire. It was common knowledge that the courtships of hobbits were long, arduous affairs, followed with strict rules of conduct. Hobbits were not allowed to have sexual relations at all until they had married to prevent any surprise conceptions. The worlds of men and dwarf had all assumed this to be because hobbit women were especially fertile, and this was the truth.

It just wasn’t the full truth.

The secret that was strictly guarded by every hobbit of the Shire with any sense of decency was this: Hobbit males could also become pregnant. The same fertility of hobbit women was also the fertility of hobbit men, in much the same way. To prevent the over population of the Shire, and out of fear of the possible consequences of the outside world knowing, hobbit men and women were subjected to very serious codes of propriety. The after-marriage prospect of this code was also to ensure that there was enough of a support structure for the family and child, to ensure that pregnant hobbits, male or female, would have a stable home for their child.

In other words, the codes were to protect hobbits from situations like that which Bilbo now found himself in.

It had happened on a warm autumn night that the company of Thorin Oakenshield had spent in Laketown, during those few days they had been awarded rest and food aplenty. In the aftermath of Bilbo’s triumphant deeds, the company had much warmed up to their hobbit, in particular Thorin. Bilbo had believed that they were in love, that he was safe and welcomed in the arms of Thorin, and had given in to their desires, despite every warning of his up bringing. It had been a glorious night; Thorin was all passion and tenderness, taking Bilbo gently but with a fire that still heated Bilbo’s body to think upon it.

The memory of the love and heat in Thorin’s eyes that night had long since been replaced by the cold fury that had been present in the dwarf’s ice blue ices that day at the gates.

Bilbo refused to feel guilty for his actions with the Arkenstone. He had acted to ensure the lives of the companions that had grown to mean the world to him, had acted to save the life of the dwarf that he loved with all of his heart. And he had been scorned by that dwarf, the very same one that swore to protect him and cherish him over all the gold in Erebor.

Bilbo discovered that, more than his sadness, more than his anger, he felt bitter at the events that had transpired.

“Ah, Rivendell, the Last Homely House East of the Sea. We shall find great rest and company here, at last. It will be nice to have a proper meal after these couple months of smoked meat and dry bread.” Gandalf sighed in relief, interrupting Bilbo from his ruminations.

The sun was just descending from the sky when they reached the Hidden Valley. Rivendell was just as beautiful as it had been so many months ago. Tall, white structures brimming with elegance, lush gardens and forests encasing the House of Lord Elrond with utter magnificence, seemingly untouched by winter's strike. The great rush of water as it poured from the fissure in the cliff side, the soft faint sound of music emanating from within, and the sweet smoky scent of wood-fire made for a sense of peace that Bilbo had not experienced since before his journey had begun.

Gandalf smiled quietly at his friend, noting the relaxing of his shoulders and the age lifting minutely from his eyes. He knew the predicament that the hobbit now found himself in. He knew of the young child Bilbo now carried with him, perhaps before the hobbit had realized himself. There had been a change in Bilbo’s bearing, a slight one that Gandalf would have probably not been aware of for some time had he had not become concerned with the lack of food the hobbit would eat.

When he had carefully brought up the subject with Bilbo, he had found the hobbit surprisingly hardy, unwilling to let the circumstances of his child’s creation affect his feelings toward it. Bilbo had listened attentively to Gandalf’s concerns and had endeavored to eat more, though he was frequently plagued with bouts of sickness.

Now that they had reached Rivendell, Gandalf was relieved that Bilbo and his child would receive the care they needed. He was sure that Elrond would instantly know the hobbit’s condition and would endeavor to keep the hobbit here for the duration of his pregnancy, possibly even after. Bilbo was incredibly endearing, and Gandalf was sure that, with even more time to get to know Bilbo, the elves would come to love and care for him as Gandalf himself did.

“Yes,” Bilbo said quietly, his hand rubbing soothingly on the small swell of his stomach. “I greatly wanted to stay here longer than I was afforded before. I had so wanted to explore the library more. So many books I never got to even look at. Terrible shame.” He sniffed, reminding Gandalf of the young hobbit he had first encountered at the start of his journey, all pomp and propriety. It warmed his heart that Bilbo’s fire had not been greatly diminished by the events in Erebor.

“We haven’t discussed yet how long you wish to stay in Rivendell,” Gandalf began, a smile tugging at his lips. “Lord Elrond will insist we rest for a good while, I believe, especially with your rather…tender condition.”

“Tender?!” Bilbo spluttered indignantly. “I did not face down a dragon, fight orcs and goblins, and suffered the horrible river rapids in a barrel to be called ‘tender’ at the end of it!” Even as he muttered in outrage, his hand continued to glide over his stomach.

“Yes, yes, you’re the most valiant, dragon slaying hobbit in Middle Earth. Forgive me, if you feel I offended you, “ Gandalf carried on, in that way of his that seems both sincere and somehow patronizing. “However, I feel I must point out that riding on the back of a pony in winter is certainly not healthy for the baby, especially since it will take a good long while to make it back to Hobbiton. Life on the road is no place for a pregnant hobbit, of that I am sure, Lord Elrond will staunchly agree.”

Bilbo shifted rather nervously in his saddle, his eyes fixed on the marble arch marking the entrance to Rivendell as they steadily grew nearer. “I would hate to impose on Lord Elrond for a couple of weeks, much less the months that a pregnancy would endure.”

“Lord Elrond is a father himself, you know, as well as a healer of great skill. Very persuasive, too. He will be most pleased to have you. “ Gandalf assured him as he rode ahead a bit to greet the elf lord that stood by the entrance.

Bilbo followed, feeling, as he quite often did around the meddling wizard, as though he were a game piece on Gandalf’s chessboard.

Lord Elrond looked much the same as he did before. His bearing was ever noble and regal, draped in the fine garments befitting his status as a revered elven lord. His fair features were bright with warmth and welcome, his bright blue eyes shining in the dim light of the summer dusk. He wore fine robes of deep brown and gold, closely fitted around his chest and arms, but loose and flowing around his long legs and feet. His dark curtain of silky brown hair fell to his lower back, with twin braids softly dancing with the winds against his chest and shoulders. A young elf stood near his side, her long wavy dark hair framing her beautiful face as she smiled.

“Welcome, Mithrandir, Master Baggins, once more to Imladris!” He greeted loudly, his arms sweeping wide in a grand gesture.

Gandalf quickly dismounted from his pony and strode over to Lord Elrond. They greeted each other with great familiarity and talked in Sindarin for a few moments.

Meanwhile, Bilbo struggled to get off his pony without completely falling off, something he did quite frequently, unfortunately.

“May I be of assistance, Master Baggins?”

Bilbo started in surprise, before he turned with a slightly red face to look upon the source of the proffered aid. The young female elf stood close by, a smile lighting up her blue eyes, so similar to Lord Elrond’s. She wore deep blue robes with exquisite silver trimmings. A slender pale hand was raised in offering to him.

Bilbo flushed hotly, embarrassed that he was so hopeless that he required help, but unwilling to offend any of Lord Elrond’s House due to pride.

  
“Well, th-thank you, my Lady. That would be very much appreciated.” He fumbled his words, much to his humiliation, not noticing the amused indulgence playing in her blue eyes.

  
Bilbo took her hand, steadied himself on the side of his pony, and was able to dismount without incident. He turned to offer her his gratitude a couple times more, but was quickly swept away by Lord Elrond, who had finished his conversation with Gandalf.

“Come, come, there is a bountiful dinner being prepared this very moment, and I’m sure you would appreciate some rest, yes?” Lord Elrond said, smiling at the hobbit. Bilbo had not traveled with Gandalf for many months to be complacent enough to miss the amused glint in the elven lord’s eyes. Bilbo sighed.

“Rooms are being prepared for you as we speak and will be sufficiently ready for you after the evening meal. Now, Master Baggins, Gandalf has apprised me of your condition, and while we have never handled a hobbit pregnancy before, I can assure you that our healers are very adept. You will be greatly cared for here.” He continued, barely stopping for a breath. Bilbo struggled for a moment to process his words – _Curse it, Gandalf! As meddling as the Sack-ville_ \- before he attempted to interrupt.

  
“I must admit that I’m rather curious as to the nature of hobbit pregnancies. I’ve not had the fortune to meet many of your race and certainly not one of your condition. I wasn’t aware that male hobbits could become pregnant. Would you-“

“My Lord Elrond,” Bilbo said rather abruptly, not wanting to be impolite in front of such a venerable lord but needing to speak up. “I would hate to inconvenience you in any way. I would certainly be happy to discuss the logistics of hobbit pregnancies with you, but I refuse to burden your hospitality in such a way. I would be honored to stay a few nights, and then we will be on our way.” He finished in a huff, a sheepish smile spreading across his face.

Lord Elrond looked at him for a moment quietly, before saying, “Nonsense, Master Baggins! You cannot possibly travel in your condition!” and continuing on much the same thread, refusing to even hear of a different opinion.

Persuasive, indeed, Bilbo thought with a sigh. Well, he would need at least a couple cups of tea before he was ready to hash it out with Lord Elrond. He couldn’t help but feel that he would be fighting a loosing battle, though.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Evening in the House of Elrond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! Chapter 2. Now, I must rest for a bit, then exhaust myself again for a far less pleasurable venture. -.-
> 
> No veren!

They sat in a small dining hall, quiet and intimate, with a fire bristling and crackling in a nearby corner and a small triad of elves playing exquisitely crafter instruments of strong oak: two simpering pan flutes and a harp strung with shimmering gold silk threads. The room opened up to a small white stone balcony, guarded on either side by a stone elven soldier with a long slim blade held to his chest. From his chair at the table, Bilbo could see the night sky, fallen over the valley of Imladris, the pools and rivers of water seeming almost luminescent under the light of the moon and stars. The faint chirping of crickets could be heard under the smooth, dancing song of the elves.

 

It seemed like so long ago that Bilbo had found such peaceful relaxation. Here, in the heart of Rivendell, Bilbo felt utterly safe from all the horrors and troubles of the world. He could enjoy the bountiful feast, laden with luscious salads and vegetables, sweet Elvish wine and, curious enough, generous portions of seasoned venison. Thinking back to their brief stay here, Bilbo chuckled at the subtle joke the elves had played on their dwarf guests.

 

He looked to Elrond, sitting regally at the end of the short table, and smiled, his dimples flashing in his rosy cheeks. Elrond seemed to understand the source of the amusement in his eyes, for he reach forward and gave himself another portion of the seasoned meat with a soft smirk.

 

To his right sat Arwen, her hair now braided in long, dark plaits down her back. She had not been very outspoken this night, choosing instead to listen to Gandalf and Elrond’s discussions of the surrounding world while swaying gently with the music.

 

Gandalf, now without his large grey hat, sat across from Bilbo, his plate now empty after two samplings of the table’s goods. His wooden staff and his sword Glamdring leaned against a nearby column, the hilt of the elvish sword flickering silver with the dancing of the flames.

 

“So, Master Baggins, you can see that it would be wise of you to stay, at least the duration of your pregnancy.”

 

Lord Elrond’s voice smoothly interrupted Bilbo’s somewhat catatonic state, now sleepy and satiated with good food and warmth. Bilbo turned once more to find the elf lord looking upon him with a warm smile.

 

“Please, call me Bilbo,” The hobbit said, returning his smile. “And you must forgive me, I quite lost track of anything  taking place around me. Would you care to repeat yourself?” He asked, sounding sheepish.

 

“I would ask that you return the favor then, Bilbo. I am Elrond amongst valued friends.” He stopped a moment to take a drink from his goblet. “Winter’s grasp has now taken hold of your passage back to the Shire. Lacking in any other option, the wolves that lurk along the forests and roads will be desperate enough to attack wandering travelers for sustenance. Fresh running water will be hard to come by, now that the lakes and rivers have all but frozen over. It would be more prudent for you to remain here, than to venture out into the winter wilderness.”

 

Elrond’s voice seemed to weave smoothly along the trains of thought in Bilbo’s mind like the soft cascading music of the elvish harp; in the wake of this enchantingly convincing argument, Bilbo felt his objections begin to fall to the wayside, his inner hobbit warring between refusing out of propriety and not wanting to be a burden versus the unbelievably welcoming warmth of the fire, the delightful satiation of his belly, and the peace and knowledge that could be endlessly explored here in Rivendell.

 

“Besides that, Bilbo, “Gandalf added, his low voice sounding content and vaguely amused. “Here you will be treated with the best healers that Middle Earth has to offer, myself included. Perhaps Lord Elrond will care for you personally. You and your child could not be in safer hands.”

 

His blissful state ended rather harshly at that, and Bilbo began a fierce protest, his face bright red and his voice sounding high and flustered.

 

“Oh, no! No, no, I could not possibly- that would be most improper to- Lord Elrond is far too great an elf to treat a lowly hobbit such as I, quite right. I-“

 

“My dear friend, it would be no trouble at all!” Elrond interrupted smoothly, sounding delighted. “Now that Gandalf has brought it up, I would be happy to attend to you. I had not much thought of it myself, but it is a marvelous idea! I and my healers would be able to learn much of your kind to add to our knowledge. A fortuitous exchange, wouldn’t you agree, Bilbo?” He positively beamed at the hobbit, who now sat quite shocked and at a loss of how to respond.

 

“And I believed that I asked you to call me Elrond, my friend,” Elrond said slyly, an amused glint showing in his eyes, now the grey of an evening sky.

 

Bilbo floundered for a moment, his hands fiddling anxiously with the edge of his waistcoat. The part of him that was weary of travel, weary of time, wanted dearly to stay and bask in the comforts of this elvish paradise. And yet still, there was another part, a now significantly smaller part, that had long since wanted to return to the Shire, to return to the life from before this adventure. To return to the blissful ignorance of life before Thorin Oakenshield.

 

 But Bilbo knew that very well that time could not be erased, nor memories unmade. And it was this, more than anything else, more than the possible disdain and exile that waited for him in the Shire, that prompted Bilbo to give in to the home offered by Lord Elrond. Because Bilbo was no longer the lone hobbit pouring over books and maps in Bag End; and in a few months, he would never be alone again.

 

He wanted this child to grow up surrounded by love and understanding. And as he sat here, bathed in the warmth of the fire and the hearty welcome in the elves’ eyes, Bilbo found it hard to believe that this same peace could be found anywhere else on Middle Earth.

 

“Master Baggins?”

 

Arwen had placed a slim, pale hand upon his small shoulder and was looking into his eyes with concern.

 

He startled a bit before looking up into her grey eyes, so similar to her father’s, and gave them a small smile.

 

“Very well, then. I will stay,” He murmured quietly, relieved at the near instant satisfaction of his companions. “But!” He said sharply, interrupting their  “I refuse to be a freeloader. I am a Baggins, and not one of those holier-than-thou Sackville-Bagginses. I wish to be useful to you, somehow. Please.”

 

Gandalf let out an uproarious laugh, managing to spill some of his wine onto the floor. “Of course, my dear friend. You didn’t think you could just lay around and eat biscuits all day, did you?” He winked at Bilbo conspiratorially. “No, I imagine the good Lady Arwen will put you to work in the gardens or the library until your condition prevents such. Then you may lie about drinking tea and eating scones.”

 

“Have you any objection, daughter?” Elrond asked of Arwen.

 

The fair female elf sipped demurely from her glass of wine and shared a small smile with Bilbo.

 

“None at all,  _Adar_. Though, I believe it might be better to have him work in the library. The garden seems as if it would be a much too energetic pastime, would it not?”

 

“Now, see here, I am not about to fall over to a wisp of wind! I-“

 

Bilbo was forced to stutter to a stop, as his companions were quite engaged in sharing amusement at his expense. He huffed a little, but he could not keep the smile from his face. He'd much rather be in the library anyway. At least then he could probably procure regular amounts of tea throughout the day. And probably a biscuit, now and then, too.

 

* * *

 

Once supper had been cleaned away, the group retired to a large study full of comfy armchairs and towering shelves of books. Another fire was roused, and Bilbo felt quite content enough to fall asleep, his hazel eyes becoming heavy lidded.

 

Gandalf and Elrond talked long into the night, their voices low and hushed against the popping and hissing of the fire. A time into this, Arwen began to sing, the beautiful song, though foreign and unintelligible to Bilbo, were enough to lull the road-weary hobbit to sleep, his arms curled protective around his middle underneath the blanket.

 

Gandalf smiled at the picture the hobbit made, curled under a linen throw with his curly golden head lolling onto the side of the chair and his large feet just peaking out from under the edge of the blanket. He met his gaze with that of Elrond.

 

“I must thank you, Lord Elrond, for taking in Master Baggins.” Gandalf bowed his head, long white strands of hair trailing over his shoulders with the movement. “He deserves a good, long rest, and I have never found as good a rest elsewhere than I have here, in your House.”

 

Elrond sat back in his chair and rested his hands upon his lap, his face thoughtful. “It is my pleasure to give him this respite. He has endured much more than he was ever meant for, as have many in this time.”

 

Gandalf was silent for a moment, before he looked shrewdly into Lord Elrond’s eyes, a silent question upon his lips.

 

Elrond understood what Gandalf was after, but did not reply immediately. Instead he found his eyes drawn to the armchair that ensconced the little hobbit. Arwen had moved to stand next to Bilbo, leaning against one of the chair's leather arms. Her hand was brushing soothingly through the curls on his head, her eyes troubled. She glanced up to meet her father’s gaze, a flash of grey fire in the dim light of the study.

 

“I was aware of the connection between them when they first entered these walls. Dormant, then… and now broken.” He murmured, his voice taking on a cold undertone. “Many a king has been blinded by the shallow luster of gold. The current king of Erebor has proven himself no different.”

 

Gandalf’s old frame seemed to relax and fall in on itself for a moment, and for a moment they shared a mutual weariness that only those of long lives would comprehend. Both had been witness to many such failings in the hearts of the peoples of Middle Earth. Most notably in the race of man, there could be found an avaricious desire for power and wealth. The races of elves and dwarrows had long lives that were more resistant to such wanton desire, but whereas the elves were held more by practicality and sense, the blood of dwarrows could run very hot indeed, especially when awarded the treasures beneath rock and mountain. The line of Durin was particularly, and fatally, susceptible to such desire.

 

Gandalf pulled his pipe from within his robes and set it alight, inhaling the Old Toby before releasing in streams of smoke from his nostrils.

 

“He is considerably healthier than I would have expected, for his circumstances…”

 

Gandalf looked toward Bilbo once more at this, his face troubled. “I had also feared that he would falter…but Bilbo has proven himself capable of admirable tenacity. I was surprised at first, but I have always know hobbits to be particularly hardy creatures.”

 

He began to relax back into his seat and closed his tired eyes, saying, “ He will have to face some rough times ahead, but I believe that he will overcome them. I have not yet met a hobbit as sturdy as Bilbo Baggins, nor do I ever expect to.”

 

“And do you think he will come for him?” Elrond inquired, his voice sounding almost forbidding of the idea.

 

One wizened grey eye opened to look at the elf lord wryly. “I cannot say for sure. The stubbornness of dwarves is legendary, as you know. I believe his love for Bilbo to be true…I do not know whether it is strong enough to withstand the curse of his line  _and_  his foolish pride.”

 

He thought back to the day he and Bilbo had left Erebor. He thought of the words Balin had said to the hobbit, of the promise in the old dwarf’s eyes. Of the slight tremble he had seen in Dwalin’s shoulders before he had vanished back into the mountain. And of the shadow he had seen, lurking near an opening in the balcony far above their heads.

 

Gandalf pulled on the pipe poised at his lips once more and then released, the long veins of smoke curling fluidly into a solid shape. A wagon pulled by two stout animals, too short to be horses, appeared in the air between them.

 

“Only time will tell, I suppose.”

 

Gandalf smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right! I hope this will tide you over for a few days. ☺ Now I gots to study. -.-
> 
> Mudassen anand anin narn hen. Ci vilui; Ant gîn vîr mi 'ûr nîn!
> 
> Galo Anor erin râd gîn.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I’m sorry that I updated later than had originally expected, but my sister came into town to spend some time with me over break, so I spent all weekend with her and my family. :3 But, here you go!

 

And so, life continued on for Bilbo Baggins ensconced in the House of Elrond. He would rise with the morning sun from a plump, unbelievably comfortable bed dressed with delicate linens and feather pillows and have a lovely breakfast on the balcony of his room. The elves had certainly been receptive of his needs, in particular those of food. They readily accepted his many daily meals, though Bilbo was unsure whether this was because he was a hobbit or because he was pregnant.

 

After breakfast, he would dress in what he had come to realize was elvish finery. Long, silken tunics and pants in silvery blue, mint green, and light purple. Arwen had crafted a beautiful silver leaf headband to keep Bilbo’s riotous gold curls from his face, and he treasured it dearly as a symbol of the acceptance and welcome he had come to love in Imladris. He certainly needed the aid too; as for reasons Bilbo cannot himself fathom, he is allowing his hair to grow as it will. The long mane of curls had reached the middle of his shoulders and had taken to curling around his pointed ears and rounded cheeks.

 

He adored his time in the library. All the majesty of elvish craft and knowledge at his grasp, just fingers away. As he followed Arwen to their next section of work, he would reach his fingers out to the shelves and lightly run them along the spines of the books. He liked to ignore the indulgent smile on Arwen’s face as she watched him over her shoulder.

 

Elrond’s daughter had proven to be a wonderful companion. Arwen was one of the most gentle souls Bilbo had ever had the pleasure of meeting. She reminded him of the moon on a still, quiet night, a guiding ray of light in the darkness, softly shining on the earth below.

 

She was a very private elf, though she enjoyed talking with Bilbo. At first, he had believed that everything about Arwen was gentle and unassuming. Even her laugh sounded light the sigh of a songbird. But there were times when he could see a fierce spirit in her eyes, much like the warrior heart of her father. In particular when she spoke of the young Estel, the son of man that lived in Imladris.

 

She would become oddly quiet when Bilbo asked after him and would reply with noncommittal assurances. Her dark grey eyes would look off into the distance, seeming to see a thousand years ahead. Bilbo had considered asking Lord Elrond, but… it felt as though he was going behind his friend’s back, as if he were inquiring into something private and personal. If Arwen did not want to discuss it, he would not bother her over it.

 

They developed a steady friendship over their time together. They often liked to eat lunch on a balcony just outside the doors of the library, overlooking a magnificent waterfall along the rocky walls of the valley. Lord Elrond would occasionally join them if he had time to spare, but it was usually just Bilbo and Arwen sharing a plate of biscuits slathered with honey and various vegetables grown in the gardens and sipping rich herbal tea.

 

After lunch, Bilbo liked to take solitary walks through the great gardens of Rivendell. Even in the winter, there was an abundance of crops and flowers, as though the valley was purely unaffected by the ravages of the seasons. Bilbo had found a stone bench in the midst of the garden that he loved to sit on and think.

 

He would think about his life here. He would think about the future and wonder what it would bring. He would think about Thorin Oakenshield. But most often, he would think about his child.

 

His belly had grown quite large for his small stature. The soft tunics given to him by the elves were the height of comfort; he could not imagine how the pregnant hobbits back in the Shire carried on with their endless adornments and layers. More often than not, Bilbo found his right hand curled around the swell of his stomach as though that were the place it was meant to be. And perhaps it was.

 

For all the trouble that his adventure had caused, for all the anger, hurt, and bitterness that still plagued his heart on occasion, he could not even fathom regretting the choices that had led him to this point of eager anticipation. He had been decidedly nervous about giving birth and raising a child on his own. But he had come to realize that he was not alone.

 

Arwen and Elrond had woven their way into his heart, and they were determined that he remain in Rivendell for some time, even after the birth of his child. The elves had become his family, so much so that he could not contemplate leaving them to return to the Shire, to the inevitable scorn and isolation that his unmarried but with child presence would garner him. Even more than that, Bilbo wanted his child to come into a world that would appreciate and understand him. A child of two races would be as welcome as a hungry bear in one’s pantry.

 

After much time spent in thought, Bilbo would return to the library and join Arwen, working slowly as he was unable to prevent himself from reading anything that caught his eye and seemed particularly interesting. From there, they would retreat into a dining hall and together with Lord Elrond and Gandalf, they would eat a bountiful array of delicacies as they discussed various things.

 

Gandalf and Elrond always seemed to fall into deep discussion about something or other, leaving Bilbo and Arwen to talk amongst themselves. Often, their conversations would fall to happier things, such as the antics of her brothers Elladan and Elrohir, who seemed to be a merrier bunch than most elves. When Bilbo was entreated to share, he like to talk of his happier memories of the Shire and even on occasion the fun parts of the journey to Erebor, though Arwen was careful to never inquire after a certain dwarf, as Bilbo’s face took on the expression of one who has suckled a particularly ripe lemon.

 

Life was simple and peaceful for Bilbo, and he very much enjoyed it, happy to find the respite and comfort of a home. This was the life of a hobbit, even one with Took blood like Bilbo. They could certainly have a merry adventure, but they also needed the safety and security of a good hearth and home.

 

Wizards, though, are not so want of peace, it would seem.

 

And so, Bilbo now stood by as his old friend Gandalf readied his horse for his journey.

 

Gandalf had stayed in Rivendell for much longer than he had originally planned, but he forgave himself for the indulgence. He had some business to attend to in Ered Luin, but he had wanted to ensure that his young hobbit friend was on his way to healing. And he could see by the healthy pink glow in his cheeks and the small dimpled smile that Bilbo was well on his way.

 

“Are you sure you must go, Gandalf? You barely seem to get much rest as it is.” Bilbo asked, smiling as he handed Gandalf another pack full of food.

 

“I’m afraid so, my lad. A wizard’s work is never done.” He winked. As Bilbo rolled his eyes, Gandalf shared a quick look with Elrond, who stood a little ways away with Arwen.

 

“Of course. Hmph. Well…” Bilbo looked down at his curly haired feet for a moment. “Well, I wish you a very safe journey. No more adventurous than necessary, I hope.”

 

“I fear your wishes will be in vain, but I appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.” Gandalf chuckled. He turned around to place his staff in a fitted leather holster under at the bottom of the arch of the horse’s neck, before he turned to face Bilbo once more.

 

“I will be passing right by the Shire on my way to Ered Luin,” he began, kneeling down to look into Bilbo’s hazel eyes. “Is there anything you would like me to accomplish there?”

 

“I wonder if they’ll let you back in,” Bilbo snorted amusedly. “You’ve developed quite a reputation by now, I’d imagine. As a harbinger of trouble, adventurous trouble. Disturber of the peace, I’d call you.”

 

The side of his mouth turned up wryly, and for a moment Bilbo wondered what is own reputation must be now, harangued in the gossip of hobbit lasses. He shook himself quickly of the thought and returned Gandalf’s gaze.

 

“Could you check on Bag End, if it would not be too much trouble? Make sure those vile Sackville-Bagginses have not ransacked the place? Even when I was there, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins would try to make off with my mother’s fine cutlery. Now that it’s unprotected…”

 

“I will be sure to check in and dispose of any bothersome, unlawful inhabitants. No trouble at all, my dear Bilbo.” Gandalf replied merrily. “And what of Drogo and Primula? Is there anything you wish to tell them?” He asked quietly.

 

Gandalf knew that Bilbo could care less for most of his relatives, but Drogo had always been a good friend and cousin. He had married Primula Brandybuck, an action that Bilbo had first frowned upon, but he had eventually come to see that they were a great couple. And their son Frodo was a treasure, to be sure.

 

Bilbo shuffled for a moment indecisively, giving a quick glance to Lord Elrond and Arwen, who stood by as silent support. Then, he reached into a small sack that he carried on his hip and withdrew a letter.

 

“I’ve decided…that for a long while into the future, I take up the offer presented to me most earnestly by Lord Elrond,” At this he sent an amused, if frustrated, look at the elf lord, who smiled back widely. “I do not know when…if ever, I will return to the Shire, so I have decided to leave Bag End to my cousin Drogo and his family. In this letter is my will.” Bilbo had sounded rather unsure at first, but as he finished he looked up at Gandalf and nodded firmly.

 

“Your will? You wish to be considered…” Gandalf questioned.

 

“Dead? No, no, just… well…I don’t know. For now, I shall just be away, I should think.”

 

“And what of your condition? What would you have me tell them?” Gandalf hoped that Bilbo would be amenable to their knowing of his secret, as that would mean that he would still have a familial relation to lean on for correspondence. He would also have a reliable source for what to expect for his pregnancy in Primula.

 

Bilbo looked off into the valley and the rising sun thoughtfully. “I made vague mention about it in my letter, for I believe that they will need it to prove my words and their right to Bag End, but… if you have the time…I would like for them to know. Drogo and Primula, I mean. Frodo is, perhaps, too young to understand. But…”

 

Gandalf nodded on affirmation, before smiling at Bilbo encouragingly. “I’m sure they will understand, my dear hobbit. Now,” He stood up and strode over to his horse, quickly hoisting himself up and astride. “I must go if I wish to make good time before the setting of the sun.” He secured Glamdring on his hip, before turning his horse to face them one more time.

 

“I wish you well, Bilbo Baggins. I hope to be back in time for the babe’s entrance into the world, but if I’m not, then you can certainly expect me in the days that follow.” He tipped his hat at Bilbo and gave him another grey-eyed wink.

 

Elrond and Arwen moved to stand beside Bilbo, the elf lord reaching down and placing a comforting hand upon the hobbit’s shoulder.

 

“Galo Anor erin râd gîn, Mithrandir. We look forward to your return.” Lord Elrond said, his form proud and tall, clothed in regal silver and green.

 

Arwen was silent for a moment, though she dearly looked as though she wanted to speak.

 

“Na lû e-govaned 'wîn, Mithrandir,” She smiled beautifully, though the tightening around her eyes belied her words as those she had wanted to speak.

 

Gandalf thanked them both gratefully, before he turned his horse to the stone arches that marked the entrance to Rivendell and began to ride, his grey cloak bathed in the first rays of the rising sun.

 

“Mithrandir!”

 

He stopped shortly, turning his head to see Arwen darting quickly after him, long mahogany tresses trailing after her. When she reached him, she placed a long slim hand upon his own clutching the reigns of the horse.

 

“Mithrandir,” She began, breathing a little quickly from her short run. She looked back at where her father and Bilbo stood looking after her with confusion from a distance, before she turned back to Gandalf, her eyes holding many a secret.

 

“This cousin of Bilbo and his wife,” she stopped for a moment as though unsure of her next words. Gandalf shifted on his horse, a small vein of concern welling up with the seriousness of the lady’s eyes. “You must advise them to…to disdain from large bodies of water.”

 

Gandalf stilled, his eyes suddenly boring into Arwen’s. There was a knowledge in them, a warning, a whisper of the future. He said nothing for a moment, silently acknowledging her gift. Many elves were gifted with incredible foresight, but they also knew the danger in interfering with the passage of time. She must believe that nothing substantial would come of this change, and also…she must truly have begun to care for Bilbo, that she would save his family from what must be an untimely death.

 

“I shall warn them,” He answered gravely. “Gûr nîn glassui, Lady Arwen.”

 

She nodded to him elegantly, the tightness around her eyes softening and her shoulders relaxing. She moved back to stand with her father and the new addition to their family, curling her arm around the hobbit’s shoulders to rest her hand over her father’s.

 

Bilbo felt that little sliver of anxiety leave him at this and watched his old friend leave with new confidence. He could feel a deep storm waiting to brew on the horizon, but with these two elves and the little babe he carried, he had little doubt that he could weather it without too much difficulty.

  

* * *

 

 

A large caravan tottered along on the dirt road, pulled steadily by two stalwart brown ponies. A short figure sat atop the bench on the front, blowing away at a long black pipe and stroking his long white beard thoughtfully.

 

He could hear the rowdy hollering of the young dwarven prince trotting along on his pony behind the cart, laughing boisterously at his quieter companion on the pony next to him. The young dwarf was thoroughly occupied with keeping the prince from falling off his horse with the shaking of his laughter, prompted by a retelling of his own indelicate joke about the proper use of a his sword in relation to a swarthy lass back in Erebor.

 

Prince Kili had been permitted to come on this short venture as his wounds had healed admirably, and he was not necessarily needed for Erebor’s reconstruction as his brother, Prince Fili, heir of the throne, unfortunately was. He had been overjoyed at any reason to leave the stronghold, as the new and overbearing weight of being a prince had taken its toll on his cheery disposition. And he was not even the heir to the throne! Fili had been greatly disappointed that he could not join his brother on this journey and find some relief from the constant needs of Erebor.

 

They had both been incredibly fed up with their uncle’s attitude. Once they had awoken from their much-needed rest, they had both been outraged at the banishment of their hobbit. After all they had been together, all the time spent becoming friends, even family, Thorin had thrown Bilbo out of Erebor because of the very stone that had caused the greatest tragedy of their time.

 

For a brief moment, the princes had pictured braining their uncle with a mace for his stupidity. Unfortunately, that would have meant that Fili would have to take over rule of Erebor, and that was not something Fili was ready for. In addition, they could both barely move a small finger, let alone heft a great spiked weapon upon their uncle.

 

This had altered their relationship with their uncle, to the point that they found it increasingly difficult to talk to him without anger. Coupled with his horrible attitude of late, Thorin was nearly unbearable to be around.

 

And so, Kili had jumped at the first chance to be free of the kingdom’s restraints, leaving his brother Fili with incredible guilt but also overwhelming relief.

 

Balin heaved a great sigh, enjoying the freedom of the wilderness, but also exasperated at the antics of Prince Kili, who had been far subdued back in their kingdom and was now free to release his energy. Ori, the poor lad, had joined the caravan for a purely educational purpose, but now found himself Prince Kili’s keeper, in charge of ensuring that the prince did not make an ass of himself.

 

Balin was also supposedly in charge of this but he liked to think of this journey as his vacation from the annoyance and drama of dealing with Erebor’s politics and the surly attitude of Erebor’s king, Thorin, who of late had been increasingly irritable and prone to lash out.

 

“Oi! Balin, isn’t that Gandalf?” Kili suddenly yelled from behind.

 

Balin turned his head to follow the prince’s outstretched arm. A lone figure atop a horse ran along the tops of a great hill, to far to contact, but easy enough to see. A large pointed hat sat on the figure’s head and the bright shine of a scabbard reflected off his hip.

 

“I do believe you’re right, lad.” Balin murmured quietly, rather bemused at the sight. The last time he had seen Gandalf was that day many months ago where Balin had been forced to say good-bye to his very dear friend, Bilbo Baggins. And from what Balin could gather, Gandalf seemed to be riding from the direction in which they now head, though he was much less burdened with supplies and thus able to take a higher road.

 

Balin felt that he could reasonably assume that Gandalf had been to the hidden valley of Imladris, the same place they were headed themselves. As gratitude for their aid to the original company of Thorin Oakenshield, the elves of the House of Lord Elrond were being given a small portion of Erebor’s treasure, as well as various works crafted by dwarven masters, such as harps, swords and shields, and pieces of jewelry.

 

A faint hope blossomed in Balin’s chest. Could Bilbo be in Rivendell? Could the reunion that he had promised the young hobbit finally be at hand? Would he finally have his chance to apologize for allowing his stubborn king to banish his dear friend?

 

He scarcely dared to hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations – from www.realelvish.net
> 
> Galo Anor erin râd gîn, - May the sun shine upon your path.  
> Na lû e-govaned 'wîn – Until next we meet.  
> Gûr nîn glassui – I thank you from my heart.
> 
> And there is the next installment. ☺ I will endeavor to have another update by tomorrow afternoon!  
> Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! And this chapter’s even a little longer than normal. :3 I’ve had a pretty crappy day, but writing this made me feel much better. Enjoy!

The messenger arrived during supper, as they are wont to do. As has grown their custom of late, Bilbo now sat at Lord Elrond’s left, across from Arwen, at the same dining room that they had used that first night Bilbo had spent in Rivendell, many months ago. A fire was roaring in the hearth, making the room comfortably warm. Tonight, they partook of carrots boiled in rosemary, venison smoked with spices, and a delicious tomato soup with basil seasoning.

 

Bilbo particularly enjoyed the soup, as it soothed his stomach and warmed him from the inside after a long day’s work. He and Arwen had finally finished re-sorting a quarter of Rivendell’s vast library, a great feat as they had taken a few days leisure after Gandalf’s departure a couple weeks before. The pair was covered in dust from the hundreds of books they’d unearthed from the stacks upon stacks.

 

He looked over the table at Arwen, who indeed had a great amount of dust in her long brown hair, but still managed to look elegant and stunningly beautiful in the firelight. He, on the other hand, looked quite unkempt and most decidedly unhobbit-like. His fingers were smudged black with ink, his hair was so doused in dust it appeared almost grey, and when he walked, a faint cloud followed in his wake.

 

When they had first walked into the dining hall, Lord Elrond had already been seated. He had turned toward them and had stilled in shock, leaving his daughter and hobbit friend wavering in the doorway. His face had turned an interesting shade of red that Arwen would later confess she had not seen for at least a hundred years, before great laughter burst from his mouth, shocking Arwen and Bilbo, as well as the servants bringing in food. Bilbo had never seen Elrond so carefree, so… well, wild.

 

So when the messenger arrived with his nerve-inspiring news, Bilbo could not help but dislike him all the more for it.

 

“My Lord Elrond,” the elf entered quickly, “We’ve just received some news that a caravan of dwarrows is on their way into Imladris.”

 

Lord Elrond looked shocked at this most unexpected news. “What is their purpose?”

 

“They hail from Erebor. They claim to have an envoy from the King himself who carries with him some offerings of gratitude for the hospitality that you provided back in the youth of their journey.”

 

The elf lord was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the swirling wine in his cup, before they flashed silver at the messenger.

 

“When would you estimate their time of arrival?”

 

The elf swallowed loudly. “Three days, my Lord.”

 

“Very well. Thank you, Rhovanion, for your haste.” Lord Elrond dismissed him quietly as he leant back in his seat and stared back into his cup thoughtfully.

 

Bilbo, meanwhile, was having something of a panic attack. He felt as though his chest had become tight, his lungs without sufficient air. His right hand smoothed over his stomach with fast strokes, his bump now protruding from under his chest, declaring his now five months into pregnancy. His left clutched the curve of his cup in an iron grip. The corners of his eyesight were beginning to darken.

 

“Bilbo!”

 

His head shot up, meeting the eyes of his friend as she knelt next to his chair. Arwen’s grey gaze looked at him with concern, her hand reaching up to feel his cheek, then his forehead. His skin felt unnaturally warm against the cool palm of her hand. He could see Lord Elrond as he leaned against the table on his other side, his forehead wrinkled with care. His grip on his cup slackened, causing him to drop it. He watched helplessly as the tea spilled onto the table and off onto the floor, narrowly missing the deep blue silk of Arwen’s dress.

 

“Are you unwell, Bilbo?” Arwen asked softly.

 

Bilbo took a deep breath, his mouth quivering. Yes, he was most certainly unwell. There were _dwarrows_ on the way. Dwarrows sent from the King of Erebor. Sent from _Thorin_. And he wasn’t ready for that kind of confrontation, not ready for his secret to leave the walls of Rivendell. Not ready to leave the peaceful dream he had lived in under the safety and protection of the elves.

 

“Bilbo.” Elrond knelt down, next to Arwen at the side of the hobbit’s chair. For a strange moment, Bilbo wondered at the novelty of this scene, the regal, timeless elf lord knelt before a young, dust-covered and frumpy looking hobbit, barely worthy to sit at his table.

 

“This need not change anything.” He said, looking deeply but with untold gentleness into Bilbo’s strained face. “Their presence here does not mean you are no longer safe within Imladris. They need not even see you. Should you wish it, I can send them away after they have rested, and we shall never hear from them again.”

 

Bilbo stared in dumbfounded surprise at Elrond. “But that would be…you would…”

 

“In a heart’s beat, I would for you, my friend. Where before you were simply a guest in my house, now you are a part of my family. A part of the House of Elrond.” He smiled gently at the shocked hobbit. “It is a bond that will stand to the end of time, I assure you.”

 

“That it will.” Arwen agreed with a grin. “Certainly, it can prove trying at times. But ultimately, it will become one you cherish and look upon for aid.”

 

“I already do.” Bilbo replied with a watery smile.

 

He was unbelievably heartened by their words. Bilbo had only been an inhabitant of Rivendell for a few short months, and yet he already felt that he belonged there. He was relieved that Elrond and Arwen felt the same.

 

Bolstered at their support, he sat up straight, squared his shoulders, and looked at the elf lord. “I will not make this situation more complicated than it needs to be.” He hesitated for a moment, and then said, “I do not want to meet them head on, per say, but…I will not hide as though I am something to be ashamed of.” He sniffed with pretend indignation, wanting to mask the insecurity he felt creeping into his heart.

 

They both looked at him with knowing eyes. He had never been successful at hiding his emotions from them, and he didn’t expect that would ever change. He secretly hoped it never would.

  

* * *

 

 

Three days had come and gone. Bilbo had spent the time struggling to maintain his normal schedule and attitude, as though a caravan of dwarrows was not arriving like harbingers of destruction, bent on ruining his peace. He felt the phantom presence of the on-coming caravan in nearly every crevice of Rivendell. He could feel it in the steady, concerned gaze of Lord Elrond and Arwen. He could feel it in the suddenly cold exterior of a majority of the other elves of Lord Elrond’s house when the subject of their incoming guests was brought up in casual conversation.

 

He could feel it in the nature of the garden, for goodness sakes!

 

The birds seemed to sing more quietly, the wind felt cooler than it had in days, and the plants and flowers somehow seemed less vibrant, as though the emotions of its caretakers could affect their blooming.

 

Bilbo lifted the limp petal of a lily where it was perched next to his favorite stone bench and sighed for what felt like the hundredth time in the past couple days. He felt childish, hiding out in the gardens on the day he knew the dwarven caravan was to arrive. But he could not bring himself to wait outright at the front gates with his elvish friends. He suspected, and rightly so, that members of the old company were traveling with the caravan, and he had no idea how he felt about that prospect.

 

He would be delighted to see Balin, Bofur, Bombur, Dori, or Ori, as he was sure that they held no ill will towards him and they had all been strong friends on the road. Nori, Oin, Gloin, Bifur, Dwalin, Kili, and Fili, on the other hand….He had never really gotten to know Nori, Oin, Gloin, and Bifur, so he was unsure whether or not they even cared about his banishment, and Dwalin was the King’s personal guard. Not to mention the fact that he had personally escorted Bilbo out of Erebor.

 

Fili and Kili…

 

“Bilbo…”

 

Arwen had entered the garden from the eastern entrance. This evening she wore a deep burgundy gown, with a gold leaf band wrapped elegantly around her waist. She’d let her hair flow freely today, a long curtain of dark brown falling down to her back.

 

It had been an unspoken rule amongst the elves that guest arriving, in particular dwarrow guests, was an occasion that warranted fine dressings, if for no other reason than to be proud of their heritage. Bilbo had given Arwen a somewhat dubious look at this, which she had shrugged off with a small smirk and an unassuming toss of her long hair over her shoulder. Bilbo translated this to mean that even the smallest opportunity should be taken to put one over upon the boisterous race of dwarves.

 

Tonight, Bilbo wore a soft green tunic with a pair of silver linen pants, his headband of silver leaves holding back the long mane of gold curls that now reached the small valley between his shoulder blades. He’d taken to tying it back with a leather band. His medium sized bump was thankfully not quite large enough to be suspicious to outsiders. It was actually rather small in comparison to the large bellies of the average hobbit males back in the Shire. Certainly smaller than the large stomach he use to tote around proudly before the adventure.

 

Arwen insisted that he looked enchanting, that his tunic brought out the green in his hazel eyes, that his hair looked like curls of gold in the firelight. He found it hard to believe that he could seem enchanting surrounded by the fairest of races, but he accepted it as the offered comfort it was.

 

Arwen glided over to him gracefully and sat to his left on the stone bench. For a moment, they sat in silence, watching the setting sun disappear under the horizon line.

 

“They have arrived,” She said softly. Her hand was brushing along the lines of her dress. “Adar wanted to know if you felt up to joining us for supper.”

 

Bilbo stiffened slightly. She had been careful to sound unassuming and indifferent to his decision, but in the past few days, he had gotten the impression that Arwen would prefer that the dwarrows never know of his presence in Rivendell. He knew she wasn’t ashamed of his presence or some situation similar to that, but he still was not sure where her thoughts were. She had abstained from saying anything on the subject, not wanting to inflict undue influence upon the nervous hobbit. And yet, Bilbo wondered at the cause…

 

“I… I will join you, I believe. I think…I think, I will.” He stuttered nervously, standing up and brushing off his tunic to have the pretense of movement, his hands fluttering around with anxiety.

 

“You do not have to, Bilbo. Adar and I both understand what you are going through.”

 

“I know,” He assured her, smiling up at her as she left the stone bench to stand before him, laying her hand upon his shoulder and brushing a thumb affectionately along his jaw. “I know that you do, and I appreciate that more than you can imagine, but I… I cannot hide in Rivendell for the rest of my days. I may wish to, but…I firmly believe that there will eventually come a time that I must meet again with the thrice-bedamned dwarf that happens to be the father of my child. And I…” His eyes seemed to grow more determined after this pause. “It will be on my terms, not his. Too long have I been a day late and a foot behind Thorin Oakenshield. No longer.”

 

Arwen nodded firmly in encouragement to his pronouncement, her grey eyes shining with strength in the descending darkness. “Too true, Bilbo. Too true, indeed.”

 

She stepped away and headed for the path she came by, but she stopped to wait for the hobbit who, after a moment’s hesitation, strode quickly after her, his much shorter legs requiring more movement than her own.

 

“But if you feel overwhelmed tonight,” Arwen began conspiratorially, “Adar and I would be happy to safeguard your escape.”

 

“Humph, well,” Bilbo began with a huff, slightly offended at the implication, but mollified at the show of support, “It will depend on what awaits me inside that dining room whether or not I am in need of an escape, I should think.” He worried of the reception he would receive from its inhabitants.

 

“I believe that you will be pleasantly surprised at the company we have tonight.” She replied, her voice both mysterious and slightly amused. “They are not the most polite of company, but certainly more lively visitors than we’ve had since your adventure brought you all to our hearth last.”

 

Well, that confirmed the presence of at least a few members of the old company. Bilbo could tell, though, from her voice and the slightly warmer feeling in her eyes that these dwarrows would, at the very least, not give him too much scorn or grief. Though, he would wonder at the sanity of any being that would have audacity enough to attack a member of Lord Elrond’s home.

  

* * *

 

 

When they reached the archway leading into the dining room, Bilbo could hear the sounds of loud dwarf munching and the occasional great peal of deep, manly laughter. There were too many conversations taking place to pick out any specific voice with certainty, but Bilbo thought he could hear the voice of Balin and the great heaves of laughter definitely sounded like one of the brother princes…

 

Arwen grasped his shoulder firmly, wordlessly conveying her support, before she whistled softly. Bilbo could not see it, but the whistle had been a soft signal to Lord Elrond of Arwen’s return with their young hobbit companion. Then, she smoothed out her dress daintily and entered, her grey eyes conveying infinite understanding on Bilbo in a last look before she faced the room.

 

“Ah, Arwen, you have returned.” He hesitated, waiting for Bilbo to step through the entryway.

 

Bilbo pulled in a great breath of air, and then proceeded into the room with his head held high and a somewhat forced smile on his face.

 

“Ah, Bilbo, my dear friend, come join us.” Lord Elrond welcomed him into the room, gesturing towards a seat on his left.

 

The entire room became instantly silent.

 

“Bilbo?”

 

Bilbo turned to his right and was met with his first sight of Prince Kili since the Battle of the Five Armies. He looked much the same as he did before, with his dark hair, blue eyes, and strong handsome features. He wore what must be dwarvish finery, as a broad tunic of deep blue could be seen under the bright gleam of scaled mithril armor. A long fur coat hung from his shoulders, so similar to that of his uncle’s that Bilbo had to quickly look away. He still wore his long, shiny black bow and array of silver-tipped arrows strapped onto his back.

 

When Bilbo found the courage to look back onto the prince’s face, he struggled to contain tears of emotion; of what kind he could not be sure. A long scar now adorned his left cheek, the only visible mark of his near death at the great battle. He had blessedly grown into a thick black beard that had been braided and beaded with sapphires and silver. Bilbo remembered the endless insecurities the lack of beard had brought Kili.

 

He stared into Kili’s blue eyes, wary of the shock and veiled emotion in their depths, before a great shudder went through the dwarf’s body. His mouth suddenly twisted into a watery smile, and he leaped over the table, scattering at least a dozen cups of wine in his wake.

 

Kili wrapped his arms around the small hobbit and crushed him to his chest. Bilbo panicked for a moment that he had injured the babe in his stomach but felt no pain at the embrace, except that of his bones bending under the dwarf prince’s strength. Nonetheless, he clutched the fur at Kili’s back and returned the affection.

 

“Bilbo, it’s so good to see you, I can hardly believe it! I—“ He pulled back suddenly to stare into Bilbo’s face, tears beginning to fall down his rugged face. “You must know that, had I been awake, I would never have allowed Uncle to do that to you, I—“ His youthful voice began to crack, his great blue eyes begging for forgiveness.

 

Bilbo gave him a sad smile in return and lifted a hand up to his cheek. “Yes, I—I know that now, Kili, I do.”

 

Kili gave a small wince at the implication in those words, but had no time to speak as Bilbo hastened on. “It does my heart good to see you hail and healthy again, Kili. Seeing you on that battle field…” Bilbo shuddered, pushing the memory away and focusing on the present. “I tried to see you, after…but I wasn’t…He did not want…”

 

“I know,” Kili answered softly, though his face contorted in anger for a moment. “Fili and I gave him a piece of our minds and our swords when we heard of what he did, but by then you were already gone. We sent letters to the Shire, but they were never returned.” He grinned. “I guess because you were not there to receive them.”

 

“No, I have been here for quite some time,” Bilbo replied warmly, sharing a smile with Arwen and Lord Elrond, who looked relieved at the affectionate reception the hobbit was receiving from his former traveling companions.

 

He took a moment to survey the dining table, noting the various dwarf faces that he did not recognize. They must be imperial guards, Bilbo thought absently. Then he noticed an older, familiar dwarf making his way toward him.

 

“Balin,” Bilbo called with joy in his voice.

 

Said dwarf strode forward and embraced him, much the same way that he had those many months ago at the gates of Erebor. As he was without the body armor that his prince wore as adornment, Balin’s embrace was much softer on the hobbit’s body and put no undue pressure on his burgeoning stomach. He leaned back to look into Bilbo’s face and gently tapped their foreheads together, nearly breaking the hobbit’s composure altogether with the loving act.

 

Balin released him after a moment and inspected him shrewdly, as though he could sense the difference in him. Bilbo felt a momentary spike of anxiety, before relaxing at the wink that the old dwarf tossed him, his wizened hand smoothing down the white length of his double tipped beard.

 

“A sight for my sore eyes you are, laddie.” He said merrily. “Did I not tell ye that we’d be reuniting sooner than you’d expect?”

 

“That you did, old friend, that you did.” Bilbo chuckled wryly. “You do not seem as surprised as I would expect you to be.”

 

“We spotted the wizard Gandalf on our way here. I had my suspicions at his presence in Rivendell, as surely the two of you could not have made it to the Shire with enough speed for him to be back here to the Hidden Valley within a couple months time, but the way of the wizard is a strange one indeed.” He chuckled. “At any rate, I am glad to have had my suspicions confirmed. I missed ye, laddie.”

 

“And I you, Balin.” Bilbo replied, his voice ringing with truth and feeling. “I wonder that you were permitted to leave Erebor, as you seemed so essential already to its operation when last I saw you.”

 

“Well, this is a very important venture, I assure you.” Balin smiled slyly. “It needed a delicate hand, as I am sure you understand. In addition, I greatly needed a small respite from all the hustle and bustle of Erebor.”

 

“Master Balin’s been practically running Erebor singlehandedly!” A cheerful voice piped up from Bilbo’s left. “Master Baggins, it is good to see you again.”

 

Young Ori smiled tentatively at the hobbit, his entire body encased in the knitted clothes that he was so fond of making. His large brown eyes blinked curiously and with hesitant warmth, as though unsure whether or not his presence was welcome.

 

Bilbo eagerly stepped forward and welcomed the young dwarf, happy in the knowledge that these three had made it safe and sound through the ravages of war and the chaos of the reconstruction of Erebor. He had been worried that Ori would fade into the background, the sacrifices and risks he had taken for the company lost and unnoticed, but he appeared whole and hearty, if the flushed cheeks and bright eyes were any indication.

 

“Ori, I’m dearly glad that you are here and safe.” Bilbo reassured the young dwarf, who lit up under the hobbit’s smile. “How was your journey here? Not too much trouble, I hope. Excluding that which you brought with you, of course.” He grinned at Kili’s cry of outrage and allowed himself to be maneuvered into his seat next to Lord Elrond.

 

Kili sat down to his right and quickly began a long winded explanation of the terrible boredom he suffered on their way here, blatantly ignoring Ori as he attempted to correct the errors in Kili’s story, and laughing unrepentantly at Balin’s amused derision.

 

Bilbo watched and listened, feeling light and happy as he often felt in the company of these three. A hand reached for his own and engulfed it in the much larger grasp. Lord Elrond was watching him, a measuring look in his evening grey eyes. Bilbo flashed his dimples in response, so great was his smile. And so, Lord Elrond relaxed, seeming content at the hobbit’s cheer.

 

Arwen was also happy for her young friend, but she could not help but have reservations of what this reunion would bring. Bilbo’s secret was certainly easy to hold close, but eventually, it would be too large to misinterpret. By the shrewd look in the eyes of the older dwarf Balin, Arwen wondered if they would even be able to keep it secret long enough for the caravan to venture home.

 

And perhaps, that would not be so bad a prospect, judging from the bright happiness in Bilbo’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we are! I will have another ready by tomorrow, hopefully. ☺ Thank you for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balin, at your service.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy this chapter. :3 It's told mainly through Balin's perspective. It does not move the plot along very much, but I felt it was necessary. Plus I adore Balin. XD

Balin was not, by any definition of the word, ignorant.

 

To be perfectly frank, he had been called one of the most perceptive and intelligent dwarrows in all of Erebor and the Blue Mountains. Though, to be even more honest, he did not have much competition.

 

He was certainly smart enough to figure out that all was not as it seemed with his young friend Bilbo. There had been many instances over the last week that had led Balin to question the simple life Bilbo lived with the Rivendell elves. Those same elves had also taken a very different approach to the dwarrows than they had on the adventure. While before they had been polite and civil, if prone to share amusement at the dwarrows’ expense, a chill now lingered around all interactions with them. He had heard their hushed whispers, all in their native language to hide their discussions, but Balin had grown up with the necessity of learning the elvish tongue, so at the very least he could tell friend from foe.

 

And over the course of the last few days, Balin had learned that while not outright foes, the elves of Rivendell were certainly not friends of the dwarrow caravan.

 

As he sat in a very comfortable chair by the fire in the middle of Bilbo’s rooms, Balin recalled those questionable events that had transpired, ignoring the loud, belly laughs of his prince as he retold some tawdry story to a red-faced hobbit and young Ori.

 

* * *

 

 

The morning after the dwarrows first arrived, Balin, Fili, Ori, and Bilbo all shared a private breakfast on the balcony of the guest rooms, though Balin was not so naïve to believe that a certain female elf had left them completely to their own devices. The sun had already risen from the horizon (Prince Kili could not be aroused from sleep until dawn was very much past), and the beauty of the hidden valley was easily seen from their venue, luscious green trees and bright sparkling waters completely undeterred by last vestiges of winter. Spring was fast approaching Middle Earth, though the vibrant life of the hidden valley would have one questioning if it had ever departed.

 

Though he was appreciative of the scenery, Balin found that watching his young hobbit companion was much more thought provoking. They ate a breakfast of warm, baked biscuits slathered in honey and jam, bowls of fruit and a few vegetables, and cups of hot tea. Kili, of course, had clamored for meat, as was a traditional addition to any dwarven breakfast, but had been quickly silenced by the razor sharp glare that Bilbo threw him at this breach of propriety. Kili had pouted after, chasing his fruit slices with his fork and occasionally flinging a piece at Ori, who was admirably stone-faced against Kili’s childishness.

 

Bilbo had eaten a good number of biscuits and fruit, but Balin had noted that he had eaten less than was natural for hobbits, at least from what he had garnered from Bilbo during the long days of the adventure. He wore a long silvery blue tunic that day, coupled with like pants and his customary bare feet. His long golden curls were trapped in a leather thong at the nape of his neck.

 

Balin found himself rather curious at the length of the hair as Bilbo had seemed so adamant before that his hair remained cropped short and out of his eyes. Perhaps it was the influence of the elves, for he had yet to see any elf with hair shorter than shoulder-length. It certainly looked very attractive on the hobbit. While Bilbo had no facial hair to speak of, the quality and volume of his hair would gain much admiration from the female dwarrows back in Erebor, whose hair usually ran to darker colors such as black, red, and dark brown. Fili, of course, was one of the only blonde dwarves in all of Erebor.

 

“Bilbo,” he began, intending to ask about his hair, before realizing that that was a rather immature thing for a grown dwarf to point out. He stopped, stroked his beard, and then resolved to ask a different question. Kili was sure to bring it up at some point, anyway.

 

“How, exactly, did it come about, your residency here amongst the elves? I had rather expected that you’d made it to the Shire months ago, and you always seemed so eager to return…”

 

Bilbo turned to him with some shock on his face, a little unprepared for the sudden question. He recovered after a moment, but his frame became notably tenser. “Well, Gandalf and I had intended to rest here for a few days anyway, and once we got here Lord Elrond and Lady Arwen convinced me to stay for a little longer, as the winter has been harsh and rather unforgiving…” His voice trailed off quietly, his hands brushing lightly over the leather arms of the lounge chair he was sharing with Ori, who was engaging in a lively debate with Kili over what they would occupy themselves with the next day.

 

“Aye, that it has been,” Then Balin’s gaze became significantly deeper. “Was that the only reason, laddie?”

 

“No, there were others, of course, but...That was a big one.” He smiled widely. Balin frowned. “But none of that really matters, does it? I’m here now, probably for a good while.”

 

“And how long is ‘a good while,’ laddie?” He felt mulish at his constant questions on the subject, especially since he could see how uncomfortable he was making the hobbit, but he could feel something there, something missing. He understood why Bilbo had stopped in Rivendell, as the winter had been a terrible one, but spring was quickening in the valley and along the pathways. Trees were livening, flowers blooming, all manner of creatures coming out of their hibernation. The roads were unburdened with ice or snow, safe again to travel upon. And yet Bilbo did not have the appearance of one who was even considering traveling. No, Balin knew there must be another reason. What, though, he could not yet fathom.

 

“Well, I…” Bilbo floundered for a moment, and Balin gathered that his hobbit friend did not have even an estimate in mind of how long he would stay. Before Balin could stubbornly mine for more information, their private conversation was interrupted.

 

Ori, who seemed to have reached his limit of Kili handling, called out to Bilbo in a somewhat desperate attempt to distract the prince.

 

“Master Baggins, would you permit me to braid your hair? It’s gotten quite long, hasn’t it.”

 

Everyone froze. Bilbo was not unaware of the significance of braiding hair within dwarf culture. It was a sign of deep trust and familiarity, a ritual shared amongst family and close friends. He had not ever expected to be offered such a gift, least of all by Ori, but he was honored to accept, albeit with a rather red face. In addition, Balin’s dogged interrogation had been fraying his nerves a bit.

 

“I would be honored, Ori.” Bilbo smiled welcomingly.

 

Kili stood up suddenly from his armchair opposite Balin, his face a mix of outrage and jealousy. “What?” He yelled into the quietness of the den. “Ori? Why Ori?! If anyone should get to braid Master Boggins’ hair, it should be me!”

 

“Why not me?” Ori cried in return, not particularly fighting against Kili for the right to braid Bilbo’s hair, but rather at the implication that he was not worthy enough to do so.

 

“Come on, Ori,” Kili gave him a patronizing look. “You’re barely out of your dwarfling years! I’ve seen blind dwarrows that could braid better than you! No, I should be the first dwarf to braid Bilbo’s hair. He’s practically my family already! He was almost my uncle through-!”

 

A general wince passed through everyone in the room. Kili paled white the second it escaped his mouth and glanced at Bilbo with a horrified look on his face. Ori stared at the hobbit as though he were looking into the eyes of death itself.  They had all been very careful not to mention the king of Erebor, but it was truly an inevitable occurrence. Balin watched Bilbo carefully, ready to intervene with a random change in conversation, but a moment later it appeared unnecessary.

 

Bilbo was silent for a moment, his face still as stone, before he shook himself and smiled at Kili.

 

“Bilbo, I…” Kili began, looking miserably mortified.

 

“It’s…I have plenty of hair, boys. Why don’t you divide and conquer, yes?” He smiled again and patted the spaces beside him on the lounge chair, seeming completely fine if not for the tightening around his eyes.

 

Kili and Ori looked at one another for a moment, then back at Bilbo, who gestured again to the seats beside him encouragingly. They moved slowly towards him as though approaching a skittish deer in the forest. Bilbo huffed impatiently at this and gave them a look of annoyance, though there was a faint glimmer of amusement there.

 

“I’m not some delicate little ninny that will break down at the near mention of Thorin Oakenshield, boys. You dwarrows seem to believe you’re the center of everyone else’s universe, I swear. Ego’s as large at that mountain you live in, good gracious.” He tuttered in derision, taking a sip from his tea.

 

They relaxed at that and moved quickly, settling down on either side of him and releasing the leather band on Bilbo’s hair and dividing the curly mass, arguing over their halves as it sounded like Kili was trying to commandeer more than his fair share.

 

Their light-hearted bickering filled the room once more, washing away the tension from the air. Bilbo stared into the fire, seeming at peace with the world, except for the occasional wince when Kili tugged too hard.

 

Balin watched him speculatively, noting with curiosity the hand running smoothly along the swell of the hobbit’s round stomach.

 

* * *

 

 

Another odd occurrence happened a couple days into their stay with Bilbo and the elves of Rivendell.

 

They all convened in the courtyard on the outer edge of the house, Kili and Ori roughhousing (or rather Kili was roughhousing and Ori attempted to survive unscathed) while Balin and Bilbo sat leisurely upon the stone steps on the edge of the porch entrance, a pipe perched at the dwarf’s lips. There was not an elf in sight, as though the elves were actively taking measures to avoid the three dwarrows. Balin understood the mutual dislike between the elves and the dwarrows, but this seemed a little extreme for the sake of old prejudices.

 

In lieu of other conversational topics, Balin had taken to telling Bilbo about the various things he oversaw in his advisory position to the king. They had just been discussing recent imports and exports into the city of Dale when a rather odd thing happened.

 

“Yes, there have been a surprising amount of imports from Mirkwood, despite the still less than amenable attitudes between the two kings,” Balin snorted at this, recalling some of those tumultuous meetings between King Thranduil and King Thorin to discuss trading treaties, though the only two that had been really discussing the treaties were Balin and Prince Legolas, Thranduil’s son. There had been a couple times that Balin had been sure they would leave the treaty room headed for war, but Legolas was surprisingly diplomatic in comparison to his father. Fili had also been instrumental in the ongoing peace, as he frequently was able to neutralize Thorin with perceptive advice and the occasional well-placed kick.

 

“I had had no idea that the elves could produce such potent pipe weed, but I suppose I should have expected it, ruling over so vast and lucrative a domain as Mirkwood. Here.”

 

At this, Balin shuffled within his deep red coat and brought out a small rolled up package. He unwrapped it, and the smell of smoke, herbs, and spices wafted into the air. He then tapped the pipe against the side of the steps, pulled some of the pipe weed from the pile, curled it into a small ball, and placed it in the iron chamber. He had found a couple of small fire starters within his rooms, so he used those to light the pipe and held it out encouragingly to Bilbo.

 

The hobbit reached for it, but then pulled his fingers back and folded his hands in his lap, looking at the pipe with longing but refusing to take ahold of it.

 

Balin was confused. “Well, go on, laddie, it’s awasting.” He held the pipe out further to Bilbo, who glanced at it again but looked away with a firm shake of his head.

 

“No, I…I don’t use the pipe anymore.” He said shortly.

 

Balin stared at him incredulously. “What do you mean, you don’t ‘use the pipe anymore’? Nonsense, here, have a go.” He reached over and folded Bilbo’s hands around the pipe, completely ignoring his protestations.

 

“No, no, I really—I’m not using it anymore, I’ve been told it’s bad for my health.” Bilbo said, attempting to give the smoking pipe back to the old dwarf in case Arwen caught sight of him. She’d skin him alive.

 

“Laddie, you smoked a pipe nearly every day of our long adventure.” He raised a bushy white eyebrow skeptically. “But now you’re suddenly concerned for your health?”

 

“Well, I—“ Bilbo looked around frantically for a reply, before blurting out, “The elves!”

 

“What about the elves, laddie?” Balin questioned, giving him a suspicious, narrow-eyed look.

 

“They find it disagreeable, I mean. Lady Arwen and Lord Elrond. They are healers, of course, so they very much discourage it, and…and I quite agree with them.” He nodded firmly at this, his mouth scrunching up with apparent distaste.

 

Balin’s eyebrows rose higher, and he took back the pipe and placed it at his mouth, taking a long, luxurious pull from it. When he opened his eyes to look at Bilbo, he found the hobbit turned away, his hands fiddling with a loose string on his tunic.

 

“I’m sorry, laddie,” He replied, amusement thick in his low curling voice. Rich smoke blew from his nose is long streams. “I had no idea you’d developed such a practice. You do not mind if I partake, do you?”

 

“As if my refusal would stop you,” Bilbo muttered quietly, throwing Balin an irritated look. The dwarf only laughed at that.

 

“Bilbo! Watch this!” Kili called from across the yard, his bow held in his hands and an arrow notched at the ready.

 

Alarmed, Bilbo sat up straighter. “Kili, what are you doing with that?”

 

“I’m showing Ori how to properly fire an arrow.” Kili grinned and raised the bow, aiming at a spot right next to Bilbo. The hobbit looked to his left and saw an apple perched on the banister of the stonewalls. He blanched at the realization of what Kili was about to do.

 

“Kili, wait, that is much too dangerous! Certainly too close to me to be safe, I—“

 

“Nonsense, Bilbo, I’ve fired at much smaller targets at a much greater distance! Don’t you trust me?” Kili hollered back, pulling the arrow back and taut with the bow.

 

“No! Kili, I really must insist that you—“ Bilbo cried out, but he was too late. The arrow sprung from the bow and shot through the air. Kili had not factored in the wind, a gust of which had just blown the arrow slightly off course. Unfortunately, and probably predictably, right in the hobbit’s direction. Bilbo had only a second to duck his head and curl his arms around his stomach protectively.

 

Everything was quiet. Bilbo opened his tightly clenched eyes and felt around himself hesitantly, not feeling any pain, but wondering it perhaps the shock of being struck with an arrow had short-circuited his brain, and he was actually bleeding to death on the grass.

 

“I believe that’s enough of playtime, yes?” Arwen asked coldly, stepping out from around a stone corner of the courtyard, a long beautifully crafted wooden bow in her hands. She looked absolutely furious at Kili.

 

Balin, who had frozen in shock the second Kili’s arrow had been launched looked over at the trees to his left. A pristine silver arrow tagged Kili’s wooden one to the tree, splintering it’s neck and causing it to hang loosely by its strips. Arwen had intercepted the arrow with such speed and accuracy; it took Balin’s breath away. In the back of his mind, Balin belatedly realized the female elf must have been watching them this entire time.

 

Kili was shocked into silence at the skill displayed by the female elf, before being knocked over by Ori as he hurried forward and helped Bilbo from the grass.

 

“Are you alright, Master Baggins?” He asked quickly, his humungous brown eyes inquiring worryingly.

 

 Bilbo accepted his help graciously and thanked him profusely, his eyes straying to Arwen as she strode toward him quickly. She took his arm gently and guided him away silently, murmuring in his ear. Bilbo’s hands had not moved away from his stomach.

 

Balin, Kili, and Ori watched them leave silently, before looking at each other in confusion.

 

“What was that about, Balin?” Kili questioned, looking to the older dwarf for answers.

 

Balin did not reply, and instead he watched the pair disappear around the corner with shrewd eyes.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo’s aversion to pipe smoke, the constant compulsion to stroke his belly, the seemingly overprotectiveness shown on the hobbit’s behalf by the elves…No, Balin was most certainly not so ignorant that he could not put these occurrences and more, such as Bilbo’s nauseous reaction to bananas and his frequent visits to the bathroom, and see them as the symptoms that they are.

 

Against all odds that Balin had believed in, Bilbo Baggins was pregnant. With what Balin strongly suspected was the child of one Thorin Oakenshield, as there was little possibility otherwise.

 

_Oh, laddie_ , Balin sighed, taking a moment to pity the luck of his dear friend. _What a mess_ …

It all made sense now, though, especially the icy demeanor of the elves of Rivendell. Healers by heart, the House of Lord Elrond would certainly care for the life of this young, courageous, incredible hobbit who had been thrown out of Erebor pregnant and virtually alone, without any reward for the sacrifices he had made for the sake of a people that had disdained him and without a care for his wellbeing in the midst of a very harsh winter. And they would certainly abhor the monstrosities who would condone such a thing, knowingly or otherwise.

 

_And a great deal of that is true, though I suspect it would have been an entirely different event, had we known…Had the king known_. Balin sighed wearily. Dwarrows loved nothing more than they loved children; not even the Arkenstone would have been able to compete with the knowledge that he would soon be a father. Perhaps it would have been enough to shake the last vestiges of the gold disease from his mind…perhaps Bilbo would have stayed in Erebor, after much groveling from the king, of course. But…

 

The past is past, nothing for it now.

 

But the future…that could still be changed.

 

When he had left Erebor with the caravan, Balin had noticed his king becoming more and more agitated, retreating often into his rooms and spending much time alone with his thoughts. On occasion, when Balin first entered the king’s rooms in the morning to discuss various needs of the kingdom, he would catch Thorin on the balcony of his bedroom, looking out into the distance, westward, over the Misty Mountains.

 

Balin did not pretend to know every thought that passed through the dwarf’s heart, but he had known Thorin long enough to recognize regret in his eyes. Longing, too.

 

Balin looked over at the young hobbit, swaddled in a fur blanket and resting his head along the side of the leather armchair, fast asleep. And he pondered things that could have been, and might still be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: WARNING!!! This chapter could cause a phenomenon known as feelseizure, as in this chapter is stuffed full of so many feels, it could possible induce a fangirl seizure. XD  
> It’s rather late, but I’m going to post this chapter now anyway. I am going to write another one and post it probably tomorrow afternoon, because I might not be able to post on Saturday as I head back to college then, and it’s a really long drive. -.-  
> In many of your reviews, it seemed like you expected Balin and Bilbo to have some big angst-ridden confrontation, but...that's not how I see it going down. I hope you enjoy this chapter nonetheless. Let me know what you think. :3  
> P.S. All of you readers are the best. :3 I can't tell you how happy your comments make me! Thank you all so much. :)

The day that the trio of dwarrows learned of the hobbit’s secret began with one of the most beautiful sunrises Bilbo had ever witnessed.

 

Before the adventure, when he was still just another hobbit of the Shire, he had never had much reason to care for the sun’s ascent into the sky. He would sleep until breakfast, sometimes even elevensies, and go about his day, believing that the world could be found in his books, his maps, and at the bottom of his teacups. On the journey to Erebor, every sunrise brought with it the burden of a poor night’s sleep and the knowledge of a hard day’s work to come.

 

The sunrise during this time of peace seemed full of beauty, full of possibilities, full of a new future. Maybe this was because of the new life growing inside of him, but Bilbo felt hopeful. He had friends with him that supported and cared for him as though he were family. The elves of Rivendell had given him a wonderful, welcoming home for him and his child. And he felt as though something great was headed his way. What, he had no idea, but he felt it there, waiting for him in the future.

 

What was waiting for him at the end of the day was only just the beginning.

 

* * *

 

 

“Bilbo, I was wondering if I might have a few moments of your time this afternoon,” Balin asked over lunch, slathering his biscuit with jam and affecting an unassuming air.

 

“Sure,” Bilbo readily agreed, wondering curiously at Balin’s formality. They had spent nearly every afternoon together with Kili and Ori.

 

Balin looked up, one bushy white eyebrow rising imperiously at the hobbit. “Alone, laddie.” His voice softened at the endearment, his eyes kind but still very serious.

 

Lunch ended far too quickly for Bilbo’s liking. He was trailing behind Balin as they walked towards the center of the garden, and Bilbo felt his stomach threatening to riot with nerves.

 

 _He knows_.

 

Bilbo felt as though the world were turning upon its head. He felt the same panic that he had upon the arrival of that first messenger with news of the caravan’s arrival. He’d been so careful, the elves had been so careful, but… but of course Balin would know after a few days in company with him. The dwarf ran Erebor behind the throne, for goodness sakes!

 

In the back of Bilbo’s mind, he had known all along that the truth would be revealed, that the arrival of the caravan marked the end of Bilbo’s secrecy. He was anxious about their reactions, worried that these dwarrows whom he had placed so much of his trust and affection in would turn their backs on him. That the differences that made him able to carry a child would disgust them. He could tell himself that their opinions did not really matter, that all he needed was his own strength and the aid he had found in the elves, but…that would not be even close to the truth of it.

 

He had grown to love these dwarrows; he loved Balin’s sage-like advice and the youthful amusement that could transform his aged face. He loved the spirit and heart in Kili, that regaining his homeland and becoming a prince in truth had not changed the bright and impish child in him. He loved Ori’s purity and kindness, his bashful red cheeks, and his bookish personality, so much like his own.

 

Losing these dwarrows…would change him.

 

“Laddie,” Balin chuckled rather exasperatedly, standing in front of the very distressed looking hobbit and placing his large rough hands around Bilbo’s shoulders. “Calm down, my boy. You’d think you were facing down the Pale Orc again, with the look on your face.” He gestured with one hand to the bench that was quickly becoming Bilbo’s bench. “Let’s have a seat, shall we?”

 

Bilbo relaxed a little, slumping down onto the bench and looking at the dwarf with an unreadable expression.

 

“Now,” Balin fixed Bilbo with an unrelenting stare, conveying his desire for complete disclosure. Bilbo felt remarkably like he did as a hobbitling when he would get caught by his mother running around the house with dirty feet and leaving a trail of chaos in his wake “When you left Erebor…were you aware of your condition?”

 

Bilbo looked at Balin warily, curious of the dwarf’s reaction. “I—I suspected, at the time…I wasn’t sure until Gandalf and I were passing through Mirkwood, and the…side effects became more prominent.”

 

Balin heaved a great sigh, closing his eyes and running his wrinkled forehead. Bilbo’s spine had never been so straight, he was sure, so strongly was his attention focused on Balin. He waited patiently for the older dwarf to continue, his breath baited and sweat forming at the base of his neck…

 

“Oh, laddie, why did you not say something then? By my beard, laddie! It could have changed everything!” Balin looked at Bilbo with such exasperation, that the hobbit felt an odd mix amusement and indignation.

 

“I—I…” Bilbo stuttered helplessly, before asking quietly, “You…you’re not upset with me?”

 

Balin gave him a look that clearly undermined his intelligence. “Laddie, surely you did not think I’d spurn you for such a thing. Dwarflings are the greatest treasures of our race, our entire world, really. Our race has a terribly high mortality rate for our children. What we wouldn’t give to be able to do what you male hobbits are apparently able to do. And I am quite curious on the subject, mind, but I understand that is for a later discussion, perhaps tomorrow.” A look of bemusement entered Balin’s dark eyes, before they refocused on Bilbo.

 

“I—I was a little worried, actually. It’s not a normal act for many races… a tightly guarded secret amongst hobbits, you see.” He squirmed for a moment, looking sideways at Balin through his curtain of golden curls. “You think it’s a good thing, do you?”

 

“I think it’s a marvelous thing, laddie,” He cried smiling widely and throwing his arm around Bilbo’s smaller shoulders. “I regret that you did not confide in me sooner… The events that transpired at Erebor’s gate would have gone much differently, I believe, had we known.”

 

Bilbo was rather shocked at this; though the elves had not been averse to his condition, they had lived many years and had seen many different events of the earth and had been incredibly curious when confronted with Bilbo’s condition. He sometimes felt as though he were some new anatomy lesson during his check-ups with the healers.

 

“Truly? You believe that my banishment would have been revoked?” He didn’t ask further, though the implications that followed those questions were easily interpreted by Balin.

 

The old dwarf stroked his bear thoughtfully and gave a firm nod of his head. “Aye. Dwarvish love of gold is long and legendary, to be sure. But never greater than love of kin and children. Never greater than that, laddie. “ His eyes held a kindness in them that made Bilbo’s heart swell and tears fill the corners of his eyes. “Thorin is one of the most stubborn of dwarrows; of late, he has allowed pride and gold lust to dictate his actions and for far too long.”

 

At this, Balin reached over to Bilbo’s hands and held them tightly in his own, staring deeply into the hobbit’s bright eyes. “But I have seen the heart of this dwarf. Dwarrows only love so truly and with such passion to set the world ablaze once in our long lifetimes. And I have never seen my King burning so brightly, so fiercely in all my life.”

 

Bilbo shuddered in a loud breath, his hands returning Balin’s grip. His words, however much Bilbo’s embittered heart wanted to deny it, found that old flame within him, the one burning like a candle trapped in a hurricane, ravaged and torn asunder, but still alight in an otherwise dark hole in Bilbo’s heart.

 

“He will come for you, laddie.” Balin said softly, his deep, curling voice ringing with surety. “Then the choice will be yours, what follows. Certainly, he would be deserving of a sound thrashing, which your elves seem eager enough to give him.”

 

Bilbo snorted at this but was caught again in the seriousness of his friend’s face.

 

“For what he has done, for what he has nearly thrown away, he might not be deserving of a second chance, either.” Balin continued, sounding grave and a little sad at this. “But…I know the heart of this hobbit, as well.” He gave Bilbo a small smile. “You will make him very, very sorry for what he has done, I am sure. Thorin will have much to redeem himself for, that we all are aware of. But you love him still, I can see. And you will forgive him.”

 

Bilbo looked away then, unable to face his friend with the worries plaguing his heart and mind. When Balin placed his large hand on his shoulder once more, Bilbo stared off into distance, weariness crinkling around his eyes and along his brow.

 

“Thorin Oakenshield is still in there, laddie, beneath the King, beneath the gold lust, beneath the blood of Durin. He will return to you, Bilbo. I am sure of it. And then, not all the gold in Erebor, not every precious gem or ore to be found in its caverns, not even the Arkenstone will be good enough to adorn even the littlest of your toes.” He winked at Bilbo at this, and despite himself, the hobbit chuckled softly, feeling that small light in his chest that had been crushed first during the long, uninterrupted trek through Mirkwood and every step away from Erebor he had taken since, revive inside his chest.

 

“Now, I want to discuss a little more about your pregnancy. To begin, how exactly did it come about? Not the act, of course, but do you have some mechanism similar to that of the females?” Balin questioned, eyeing Bilbo with speculation.

 

Bilbo turned bright red and fought to keep his mouth from gaping open. He was saved from answering these embarrassing and, to be honest, rather improper questions by a sudden rustle in the bushes behind them, and a loud shout erupted from the hedges.

 

“Pregnancy?!”

 

Two short figures tumbled from the greenery, rolling on to the ground near the bench Balin and Bilbo sat upon and generally creating all manner of noise. Kili jumped to his feet clumsily, nearly toppling over in his haste to get a good look at the hobbit, who was completely unprepared for this. Ori, after sending a rather harsh glare at Kili, brushed the debris off his knitted sweater and attempted to look abashed, though the ears turned in their direction betrayed his interest.

 

Balin’s head dropped into his hand with a loud smack, but Bilbo could hear him chuckling under his breath. The older dwarf gave Kili a look that would have done the hobbit mothers of the Shire proud, and said, “And this is behavior befitting of a dwarven prince, is it? Eavesdropping in the gardens of elves, like naughty dwarflings.”

 

Kili, who had been cowed for a moment by Balin’s scolding, was starkly reminded of what had provoked his earlier incredulity at that last word from Balin’s lips. His bright blue eyes returned to Bilbo once more, holding such a familiar look of determination that Bilbo felt a small pain in his chest.

 

“It’s true, then? You are—and my uncle, he—all this time, we’ve never—“ The poor dwarf could seem to even finish a thought, so many questions and emotions cascading through his mind.

 

“Yes.” Bilbo said shortly.

 

Kili became suddenly silent, looking at Bilbo with a blank face worthy of the stone statues that guard the entrance of Rivendell. Then he stepped forward tentatively, his face still betraying nothing, but his eyes held a vulnerability in them that Bilbo had never seen the like of in Kili before.

 

“May I….” His words trailed off softly, and he gestured with a small wave of his hand to Bilbo’s stomach.

 

Bilbo could only look at the dwarven prince, uncomprehending of what he was asking for. Not that he thought about it, not one of the elves outside his healers had attempted to feel the swell of his stomach. Arwen and Elrond, Bilbo realized, had tried every so often to approach the possibility, but his own lack of understanding what they wanted had kept them at a distance on this matter. Having Kili use his rather blunt way of going about things opened Bilbo’s eyes. He’d have to fix that, and quickly. He hated to think that Arwen and Elrond believed their touch to be distasteful to him.

 

“Sure, Kili,” Bilbo said after a brief pause, a little nervous.

 

Kili watched him closely as if gauging his willingness, before he stepped closer and knelt down on the ground next to Bilbo’s place on the bench. He glanced up at Bilbo’s face again, measuring hi reaction, but at finding only acceptance and a small smile adorning the hobbit’s face, he placed his large hand on top of the bump.

 

It was a kind of peculiar situation for Bilbo, as he was used to having only his own hands on his burgeoning stomach, but not an unpleasant one. The look of awe on Kili’s face made up for any of the small awkwardness at the event, as well as the wide delighted smile that grew on his face.

“Hey there, little cousin,” He whispered softly.

 

If he could have loved Kili more, that little moment right there, in the amber light of the setting sun bathing the gardens of the hidden valley, would have done it. As it was, Bilbo pulled Kili up off the ground and gave him a hug that would have broken the back of a less sturdy being. Kili returned it heartily, burying his face in the large mass of Bilbo’s hair.

 

Balin and Ori shared an amused, happy look at the picture the two made, Kili engulfing the smaller hobbit, and the older dwarf strode over and patted each on the back, a broad grin on his face.

 

Kili pulled a little away from Bilbo, his eyes shining with happy tears. “Thank you,” He said, with such honest gratitude that a tear or two really did escape from Bilbo’s eyes. The prince leaned down and gently tapped their foreheads together, grinning adorably all the way. Bilbo gave a watery laugh at this and closed his eyes, at peace with his world.

 

They stayed in that position for a few moments longer before Kili’s unwavering energy made him release the hobbit. He looked between Bilbo and Balin with excited eyes.

 

“This changes everything, right? You’ll be coming home with us, back to Erebor, right?”

 

His excitement was dashed at the instant hesitation in Bilbo’s eyes and the shaking of Balin’s head.

 

“No, my prince.” He said, sadly. “Bilbo is too far along for the journey to be a wise one. At any rate…” He looked at Bilbo with understanding. “I believe that it is best if Bilbo remains here, at least for the duration of his pregnancy. Not that the elves would release him to our custody any way. Very protective, the Lady Arwen is. I will not be placing myself in front of her arrow willingly.” He chuckled at that, and Bilbo shared a smile with him, warmed at the acknowledgement of the elves’ affection.

 

Kili, on the other hand, frowned unhappily. He was sure that if they returned to Erebor, his uncle would be forced to see what an idiot he had been. He was not so naïve that he believed everything would be instantly solved if they were trapped in a room together, but Thorin would take forever to swallow his pride and set things right, especially if he didn’t have to see Bilbo on a regular basis. Kili believed that the only way Thorin had been able to carry through with Bilbo’s banishment was because he had been too much of a coward to do it himself and had instead sent Balin and Dwalin to do so.

 

 _If he could not bring Bilbo to Uncle Thorin, then…he would have to bring Uncle Thorin to Bilbo!_ _Shouldn’t be too difficult_ , he thought.

 

“Well, that’s settled then.” Kili announced suddenly, attracting the other three’s attentions.

 

“What’s settled, my prince?” Balin asked suspiciously. He recognized that self-accomplished smile on Kili’s face. The only thing missing from it was the identical counterpart to that smile cased in blond facial hair and a winsome superior attitude. Even apart, Fili’s presence could be found in early everything his brother did.

 

“We’ll be staying here, then. Until my little cousin is born.” Kili nodded firmly at that, turned, and strode from the garden, head held high and shoulders straight, a smirk on his handsome face.

 

“Wait, what?” Bilbo asked quickly, not trusting his ears for a moment. “Kili? Kili!” He called after the dwarf, who took no heed whatsoever at the hobbit’s voice.

 

“Balin?” Bilbo turned to the white-haired dwarf, who was shaking his head at his prince’s departure, amused at his antics but in complete agreement with his plan.

 

“It appears you’ll be burdened with our company for a while yet, laddie,” He chuckled unrepentantly, following Kili’s path to the eastern entrance of the garden and leaving the befuddled hobbit and bookish dwarf in his wake.

 

Bilbo turned to Ori, who shrugged and lifted one of the purple knitted scarves from his leather satchel, wrapping around Bilbo’s neck and leaving the garden as well.

 

Bilbo’s right hand smoothed along his belly while his left felt the soft material of the scarf Ori had given to him. He looked down at the small bump of his stomach, before a smile took over his face.

 

He laughed loudly when Arwen stepped out from around a near by tree, completely unabashed at having been eavesdropping and sharing his expression of utter bemusement.

 

 _Dwarrows_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s it for this chapter! ;D I warned you! Hope you enjoyed reading! Thank you. :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Sorry about the late update, I had to get my passport filled out and turned in, and then I had to do laundry and get ready to head back to college tomorrow, and then my family and I went to see Oz, the Great and Powerful, which was pretty good, if cheesy. I’m really tired, so if there are any mistakes, please forgive my tired aching brain. -.-

Thorin Oakenshield stood on the balcony of the royal chambers, dressed in the deep blues of his family and his long fur cloak. The air was brisk and brought with it an awakening chill, just what the dwarf king needed at the beginning of a long day listening to the complaints and moans of the various dwarrows of his kingdom. Months after he had reclaimed his homeland, the reconstruction of Erebor was still very much underway. Though the trade agreements with the men of Dale and those blasted elves were certainly doing much for the area’s revival.

 

He had another meeting with the elf king and his son that day, and he wasn’t sure his health was benefitting at all from these poor excuses for negotiations (though they were clearly getting the job done). Thranduil took every available opportunity to needle at Thorin, delighting in making thinly veiled insults and sometimes blatant references to one Bilbo Baggins.

 

The dwarf’s large hands gripped the stone banister fiercely, feeling the now familiar boiling sensation within his stomach at the mere mention of the hobbit’s name. There had not yet been a day when Bilbo Baggins had not been a central thought in Thorin’s mind. Not a night that he had not fallen asleep looking at the empty place on the other side of his enormous bed with emotion choking his lungs. Not a morning when he did not awake with his name on his lips.

 

The morning that Thorin had stood on the outer balcony of Erebor, hidden in the shade of a stone column, and had watched Bilbo leave with Gandalf, banished at his own hand had been the beginning of sanity’s return to the dwarf’s mind. Only now, aided by sanity and hindsight, could Thorin see the madness that had superseded his thoughts, his mind, his heart. He had watched his grandfather suffer it, watched him turn his back on his family and his people, enamored by the mountains of gold and the magnificence of the Arkenstone, and when Smaug the Terrible descended on the mountain, Thorin had been forced to pull his grandfather and king from their home, not for the memories, the family members still trapped inside, but for the heart stone of the mountain.

 

He had known, but he had believed himself above it, strong enough to withstand it. And yet, Thorin had proved otherwise. And because of this, he had lost the greatest treasure he had ever known. The love he had shared with his hobbit, Bilbo Baggins.

 

He had hid his feelings from all around him, hidden from Balin, Kili, Fili, Dis, and the other members of the company. Hidden from himself. For the longest time after Bilbo’s initial departure, Thorin had continued with his furious outrage and claims of betrayal, though in the back of his mind, a voice cried out in regret. As the days passed, that voice had become louder and louder, until Thorin finally realized it was his own.

 

It was not a continued sense of betrayal or self-righteous anger that kept the dwarf king from following after his hobbit. No, he was ashamed. Ashamed that he had valued a glorified rock over his company, his friends, and his family. Ashamed that he had lost sight of the true reason that he had wanted to reclaim Erebor, as a home for his people, not a treasure hoard. Ashamed that he had banished the one being who had loved him for all his faults, who had loved him when he had nothing but a sword and oaken shield to his name. Ashamed that he had betrayed Bilbo and the promises he had made that night they had consummated their love.

 

He was also afraid. After everything that Bilbo had endured for a group of near strangers, for a cause that had nothing to do with him or his life, Thorin had tossed him out of Erebor like a dog, without a single coin of the treasure that was by rights his and without a single friend, with the exception of the wizard, to accompany him. He had not even allowed him to see his nephews, who had been heavily injured and still in fatal conditions at the time. He had not seen him out himself, believing that a king was above the dismissal of betrayers.

 

Looking back, Thorin realized he had been a coward.

 

He still was, really. An unworthy king for his people. He was so afraid that were he to go to the Shire, to beg for his hobbit’s forgiveness, that Bilbo would turn him away. Thorin would not blame him in the least. He deserved it, deserved to suffer alone as he had made Bilbo suffer. He did not deserve Bilbo’s heart, as he had proven he was incapable of treating him with the reverence he deserved.

 

Stubborn Pride kept him standing in front of his people, organizing the reconstruction and ordering around the returning dwarrow royalty. Pride that kept him silent when Bilbo’s name was brought up in conversation.

 

He carried no happiness with him. Thorin had not felt true joy since before Erebor’s reclamation, since the gold sickness had infested his mind. Since he had forced his lover from his arms, burdened with the many insults and cruelties that Thorin had heaped on him. He had felt relief at the recovery of his nephews, but that had been the last bright emotion to lighten the king’s long, wearisome days.

 

As the days became longer and longer still, Thorin realized that it could not continue.

 

“Uncle.”

 

Thorin turned to watch his nephew come into his rooms, not a care in the world for propriety. He wore the same deep blue shirt that his uncle wore, lined in a fashioned of intertwined silver thread bands along the collar and hem. Fili chose not to wear a fur cloak and instead wore black trousers and fur boots, his sword locked around his hip. His golden hair and beard were intricately braided with the finest beads to be found in the royal treasury. Thorin himself had kept his beard shorn to the same length as before the journey, still believing himself unworthy of such an honor.

 

Fili had recently taken over Balin’s position in the negotiations with the elves, which was in actuality making the treaties with Prince Legolas and working together to prevent their kings from tearing at the other’s throat. Fili wasn’t nearly as good as Balin was in the subtle ways of politics, but he was fairing much better than his uncle, who had to constantly restrain himself while Thranduil leveled subtle jabs at him every second.

 

“It’s about time to head down to the war room for our meeting with the elf king and the prince.” He said this with all the excitement of one attending a funeral or a particularly lengthy session of watching rocks fall from the mountain’s side.

 

Thorin grunted at this but shuffled over to where his nephew stood by the door, opening a letter he’d pulled from under his arm.

 

“A letter came from Balin,” he murmured, reading through with an expression of increasing confusion. Thorin, who was gathering the papers necessary for the meeting, looked over curiously.

 

“What does he say?”

 

Fili didn’t reply for a moment, reading over a part of the letter and shaking his head. “Apparently, Kili has caught a nasty disease on their way over, and they are prolonging their stay to suit his recovery.”

 

“What?” Thorin said incredulously. “Kili hasn’t been sick with anything since he was a dwarfling. Does it say anything else?” He had gathered up all the papers into a messy stack to be carried in his arms and was standing beside Fili with an eyebrow raised.

 

“No, just that his condition is not serious but is concerning enough that they will be staying for at least a couple more days.” Fili looked up at his uncle, a bit worried about his brother. “Should I ride off and check on him?”

 

Thorin thought about it seriously for a few seconds, rather wanting to ride out himself, but he shook his head.

 

“If Balin is sure he will be fine, then I believe his word. Besides,” He continued reluctantly, “The House of Elrond has some of the best healers in Middle Earth. He’ll be back in fighting form in no time at all.”

 

Fili nodded absently, his brow still furrowed, and he placed the letter back in his pocket. The prince reached forward and unburdened his uncle of the documents, heading toward the door with tired look on his handsome face.

 

“We must be off then. We’re probably late as it is, but this might go faster if we do not keep them waiting like yesterday.” He threw his uncle an accusing look at this, who gave him an unrepentant stare back.

 

“Damn elves…”Thorin muttered quietly.

 

* * *

 

“There’s another letter from Rivendell, Uncle.” Fili called from the doorway to his uncle, who was enjoying breakfast with his sister and Fili and Kili’s mother Dis in the royal dining hall.

 

Thorin looked up as his nephew made his way to the seat on his left, raising an eyebrow questioningly. “Are they on their way back?

 

“No. It says that Ori caught whatever disease Kili had, and they must delay there return for _anoth_ er few days.” His nephew looked up at them with wide, incredulous blue eyes. “What on middle earth is going on at Rivendell? An epidemic?”

 

Thorin reached for the letter himself and, quickly reading through its contents, found his own curiosity rising. Dwarrows are a notoriously hardy race, immune to most illnesses and ailments. That two young, healthy dwarves fresh out of their dwarfling years caught some form of illness was incredible. Also extremely rare…and unlikely.

 

He put down the letter and returned to his breakfast, his eyes thoughtful. Dis snatched it up to read as well and then shared a look with her son across the table.

 

“Were it not Balin, I might suspect this to be a lie, but…” Dis hesitated and frowned down at her eggs and biscuits. “This is strange indeed.”

 

The dwarf princess looked a great deal like her brother, except for her fine cheekbones and long, detailed beard that trailed over her ample chest. She wore a deep grey dress that day, causing her blue eyes to seem of the same color. Her long black hair trailed down her back in braids as well, though her own was not streaked with fine silver like Thorin’s. She was called the most beautiful of the dwarf maidens and also the fiercest. She had learned the way of the sword and axe alongside her brother, and she was not bashful about shoving the business end of either up a few asses to have her will be done.

 

“On the contrary,” Fili replied. “I believe that if this is a smokescreen, Balin’s the most likely to be behind it. Kili’s excuses would be either stupid or completely out of the realm of possibility, and Ori—well, Ori would never lie to Uncle Thorin, even in a letter.” He began to fill a plate of his own with breakfast, smirking up at his mother and uncle. “Plus, Balin’s a sneaky old bastard when he wants to be.”

 

That was also true, Thorin acknowledged wryly. Still…

 

“At any rate, we have other more pressing matters,” Thorin began with a huff of agitation. “Largely, these ongoing treaties with the elves! This should have ended before Balin left for Rivendell.”

 

“I know,” Fili agreed with a mutual growl of aggravation. “They keep finding little things to pick at and discuss, like that meeting earlier this week where we had to hash out the precise exchangements of the specific types of wheat and grains. It’s ridiculous! It’s like they’re trying to draw out these meetings as long as possible!”

 

Thorin and Dis both paused at that and shared a look. Was it possible the elves were biding their time, waiting for something else to happen? _Possibly_. Considering the fuss that the elves had kicked up originally at the meetings taking place within Erebor, one would think they would want these meetings to finish quickly, if only to leave and disdain the dwarrows from a distance. What they could possibly be waiting for though, Thorin could only guess at.

 

“Well, the next meeting started a couple minutes ago. I came here to fetch you for it.” Fili said around a mouthful of eggs.

 

“Let them wait.” He grinned from around the rim of his goblet.

 

* * *

 

“Okay, this is becoming ridiculous,” Fili shouted as he strode into his uncle’s rooms a few days later.

 

“Are the Gunderson’s petitioning for the rights to half the land under Dale again?” Thorin asked wearily over his shoulder from where he sat at his desk.

 

“No, but that’s equally ridiculous, and if they do it again, I’ll shove my sword—No, no, another letter arrived from Rivendell. This time, it’s saying that Balin fell down a few stairs on his way to the courtyard and broke his bloody leg!” The disheveled prince threw himself into an armchair next to the desk and shook the letter violently.

 

“They’re stalling,” Fili repeated something Thorin had been suspecting since the third letter claimed that Kili had somehow managed to shoot Ori with an arrow, and the younger dwarf’s wound had become infected.

 

“We’ll have to discuss this later. I’m at the end of my sword with these damn treaty meetings. What does it matter what kind of soil the precious elf plants will be growing in once they are moved to the fields around Dale? They can grow in horse shit, for all I care!”

 

“I don’t have a clue. I just want to crawl back in bed and pretend I’m a comatose patient for the rest of my life.” Fili moaned, the crook of his arm cushioning his head, which was quickly developing a headache.

 

“Let’s just get this over with.”

 

* * *

 

The meeting turned out to be the worst Fili had ever been forced to endure. Thranduil’s constant insults and jabs at dwarven intelligence was driving Fili and Thorin up the wall. Disregarding Legolas’ continuous attempts to take charge of the conversation from his father, Thranduil dominated over the meeting, going on and on about the agriculture process and what was needed.

 

Then he pulled Bilbo into it.

 

“I remember talking with a very knowledgeable creature before the beginning of the great battle, now who was that, I wonder?” Thranduil spoke with a quiet sinister voice, a small smirk curling at the edge of his mouth. “Ah, yes, _the hobbit_ , now I remember. Very knowledgeable, indeed. _He_ knew a great deal about the soil and the proper maintenance of such things. I imagine _the hobbit_ must have had many opportunities to investigate matters of the plants and vegetation, living in a hole as he did.” The elf king shuddered dramatically, but there was amusement in his cold eyes at the dwarrows’ reactions to his implications about Bilbo’s life and home.

 

“My King,” Legolas tried to censure his father, weariness and frustration wrinkling his brow and tightening his mouth.

 

The silver goblet in Thorin’s hands began to develop tiny, hairline fractures from the force now crushing it in its grip.

 

“Such an unsavory thought, though I confess I was curious about the _little creature_. _The hobbit_ himself seemed very concerned with hygiene and proper appearances, but he _was_ in the presence of kings, so _the hobbit_ was consequently influenced, I imagine. _The hobbit_ —“

 

“His name is Bilbo Baggins,” Thorin roared suddenly, standing up so forcefully that his chair clattered to the floor behind him. “How dare you say such things about him? You knew _nothing_ about him! He is worth more than a thousand of you thrice-bedamned tree-loving bastards!”

 

“Uncle!” Fili shouted, shocked at Thorin’s outburst but actually pleased in the face of his rage. He had not displayed such emotion for months.

 

“Bilbo Baggins is the only reason these damn meetings are even taking place!” Thorin growled, his voice thundering over his nephew’s protestation.

 

“Is he now?” Thranduil interrupted, not deigning to rise to his feet to face the enraged dwarf king. He fixed Thorin with a piercing, mocking stare. “Where is he, then? Bring forth Bilbo Baggins, if he is the only reason these treaties are being written.”

 

The silence was nearly deafening. Thorin shook with fury, hands clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. Everyone else in the room seemed frozen in time at the cataclysmic event that was about to unfold. Bilbo’s banishment had been the giant taboo of the kingdom since it had first been enacted.

 

Thranduil leaned back in his seat, appearing at ease, but the glint in his eyes meant this was not the end.

 

“Ah, that’s right,” He drawled, folding his hands carelessly in his lap. “You banished him from the kingdom, didn’t you? For giving away the pretty rock that sat above the throne.” He sighed dramatically at this, though his condescending eyes never left that of the dwarf king’s. “I imagine he’s made it back to his lands now. _The hobbit_ , finally returned to his rightful place. To his hole in the earth. With nothing to show for his adventures. Full of regret…pitiful…and alone.” He smiled cruelly. “Any of that sounding familiar, King under the Mountain?”

Fili doubted he had ever moved as fast as he did then, throwing his thickly muscled arms locked around his uncle’s torso as the enraged dwarf lunged across the table, hands outstretched to throttle the elf king.

 

“Dwalin! A little help, please!” Fili shouted, attempting to haul Thorin away from the round table, but even with his war wounds still recovering Thorin nearly overpowered his nephew.

 

Dwalin grunted, seeming to want to watch his king give the damned elf king what was rightfully coming to him, but he stepped in anyway, strong-arming his friend and leading him forcefully out of the room, smirking with pleasure at the filthy insults flying from Thorin’s mouth at Thranduil.

 

Fili caught his breath as he watched his uncle disappear behind the doors of the meeting room before he returned his attention to the elves. Legolas was arguing fiercely with his father, though his words were masked from Fili in the elvish tongue. Thranduil merely waved away his son’s chastisements, rising from his chair regally and exiting through the door on their side of the hall from whence they’d come, having every air of one who has accomplished what he had set out to do that morning.

 

Legolas did not follow him, choosing to turn to Fili with an anxious face.

 

“I cannot even begin to apologize for my father’s actions today. Prince Fili, I—“

 

“It’s fine, Prince Legolas.” The dwarf prince replied shortly, still a little shocked at what had happened there. As the events caught up with him, Fili turned toward the door his uncle had been dragged through, eager to watch more of the uncle he had grown up with and missed so much in the past few months.

 

“But Prince Fili—“ Legolas shouted after him, most likely wanting to fix the damage his father and king had wrought upon the proceedings.

 

“I’m saying that amends will not need to be made in the future,” Fili said rather coldly as he stopped to look at the elf prince. “The things he said…There will be turnabout coming. I’d prepare for that, if I were you, Prince.”

 

Then he strode out of the room, leaving the elf prince to his worries and following after his own.

 

He reached his uncle’s rooms as quickly as he could, the war room being not to far away from the royal apartments. The doors were thrown wide open, and the sound of things glass and otherwise being thrown about the room in fury could be heard from down the hall. When he reached the premises, the first thing Fili noticed was Dwalin standing next to the door, a nasty cut bleeding sluggishly on his forehead. He gave Fili an exasperated look upon his noticing the prince before his gaze returned to that of his king’s raging form.

 

Thorin’s rooms were a chaotic mess. Sheets laid torn about the floor, pillows and seat cushions in tatters. The bookshelf that had stood along the edge of the right wall was now in splinters on the floor, books and papers scattered everywhere. The doors to Thorin’s balcony that had held beautifully crafted glass windows, carved in the Durin crest, lay in sharp jagged pieces along the stone floor.

 

Thorin sat upon the destroyed bed, his face in his hands and his long black hair streaked with silver falling around his knees. The only sound to be heard in the room was that of his uncle’s harsh breaths. When those died down, Fili carefully began to speak.

 

“…Uncle?” He asked tentatively.

 

Thorin did not reply for a moment, and Fili shifted nervously, glancing back at Dwalin’s face, as unreadable as though it were made from stone.

 

“Pack your bags.” Thorin said, suddenly standing up from the bed and crossing over to the balcony, uncaring of the glass shards he stepped on.

 

“Uncle?” Fili questioned rather stupidly, wondering if his uncle had perhaps blown an artery in his brain in his anger and caused himself massive head injury.

 

“We leave at dawn. Alert your mother that she will be in charge of Erebor during my absence.” Thorin’s voice was rough due to his bellowing insult at the elves. He did not turn away from the balcony, looking steadfastly out into the western sky.

 

“And where, exactly, are we headed, my King?” Fili continued staring at his uncle wonderingly.

 

“Rivendell, first. To pick up your idiotic brother.”

 

Fili stilled. “And then?”

 

Thorin did not reply for a moment, but he turned around to face his nephew, a familiar determination in his eyes.

 

“Then I have a journey of my own to make.”

 

That was all he said, but it had been enough. Fili sprinted from the room, a smile on his face as he dashed through the halls of his home, making a beeline for his mother’s suites. He reached her doors, threw them open dramatically, and jumped inside, nearly catapulting over a lounge chair near the entrance to Dis’ sitting rooms.

 

His mother had been relaxing in a chair by the window, a book in her hands. She looked up unsurprised as her son crashed into her room and gave her such a wide smile that she huffed amusedly. It only took that smile on her son’s face for her to realize what had happened.

 

“Finally.” Dis grinned. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading...so sleepy....


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Before you get excited, this is not the big reunion chapter. I know, I know, the suspense is knifing you in the kidneys right not, but surely you did not think it could happen so quickly? ☺ The next chapter will be the big kahuna, I believe, but unfortunately, spring break ends for me tomorrow, and I must return to the real world for a little bit. :/  
> This means that I will not be able to update every day like I have been, which makes me pretty bummed too. But the first movie is coming out on TUESDAY!!! EEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!! :3 I will buy it, and it will become my precious….my precious. I know it’s disappointing, but the earliest I expect to update will be Thursday. My course load on M,T,and W is just too heavy to allow for a quality chapter in there. ☹  
> Thank you for reading! You readers are the best. I wuv you. :3

“Kili, that last letter was ridiculous! There’s no way your uncle or brother believed any of that!” Bilbo shouted exasperatedly at the young dwarven prince from where he stood at a safe distance from the courtyard, forever mindful of Kili’s aim. Said dwarf stood at the far end of the grassy field, bow cocked and arrow pulled back, pointed at the large circular targets on the other side. He began to walk and shoot simultaneously, practicing his in motion movement and sharpening his aim. Kili never admitted it, but he had been a little envious of Arwen’s skill that day he had almost skewered Bilbo.

 

“It’s fine, Bilbo.” He replied with a careless grin, planting an arrow firmly in the center of a target. “They’ll see that it’s from Balin and think nothing of it! He’s the royal advisor, he’d never lie to the king!”

 

Bilbo’s eyes narrowed into skeptical slits of bright hazel. While he knew for a fact that claim was not at all true (he had heard Balin throw around quite a few tall tales on the road), he had acceded that the first and even the second letter had been accepted without much suspicion by the dwarf king and his brother, but the third letter had been a little silly and quite out of the realm of reasonability, as any one who knew of Kili would know of his talent with the bow, in particular his family. No, if Kili were going to shoot Ori with an arrow, it would be on purpose, no accident about it. And Bilbo was sure that Thorin and Fili would be aware of that.

 

Then the letter about Balin breaking his leg by falling down some stairs…what rubbish! The hobbit doubted there had ever been a dwarf as spry and capable as Balin. Bilbo had seem him do a number of incredible feats in battle holding sword and axe alike, all without so much as a stumble. As Kili had sent the last letter without allowing Bilbo or Balin to read it first, they were still not completely sure what else had been written in it, and Bilbo was starting to become suspicious of Kili.

 

He had always known that the dwarf prince operated with only the best of intentions, but his idea of what was best for others was not always…well, _best_ for others.

 

Bilbo sighed but resolved not to think on that until later. For now, he had a meeting with Arwen, who he had asked to take over as his healer until his child was born. She had been delighted, had even blushed a little, and had agreed with a bright smile on her face. Later, she had gloated in front of the previous group of healers. Bilbo hadn’t realized there had been a secret competition taking place amongst the healer elves, one that had grown more heated the closer he got to his due date. Now that he’d picked Arwen, the other healers had been skulking around Bilbo’s check-up sessions. A few had asked if they could still be present for the birth, but Bilbo had been unable to give them a definite answer, as whenever the topic arose, he felt a mixture of happiness, terror, and horrible nausea.

 

The dwarrows kept out of his weekly healer’s visits, for the most part. Balin had sat in on a few, burning with questions that the healer could not answer and that Bilbo was too embarrassed to. After a while, Balin had chosen to visit the library during that time instead, searching through the shelves for books on his kind, wondering at the extent of elven knowledge. Ori frequently joined him and had never sat in on Bilbo’s visits, as he was unsure if it was proper for him to do so because he was not a member of the family. Bilbo had reassured him otherwise, but Ori had remained away, not willing to break propriety in this matter.

 

Kili, who had been delighted for the first few minutes of the first visit he sat in on, had quickly become extremely adverse to joining Bilbo at the healer’s. It seemed that the medical side of pregnancy, instead of the fluffy and happy anticipation of a cuddly new family member, made the dwarven prince extremely queasy. When the healer had started discussing options for the birth, Kili had nearly thrown up his breakfast and had dashed from the room without a word, face green and lips clenched. Bilbo could scarcely blame him on that.

 

So he had asked Arwen to be his personal healer from then on, knowing that he would be a lot more comfortable with his friend overseeing his pregnancy. Bilbo could hardly wait for the appointment today, as he had not been able to spend as much time with Arwen, and even less with Elrond, since the dwarrows’ arrival. Arwen had taken to shadowing Bilbo whenever he spent time with the dwarrows. Why she did not do so out in the open, Bilbo was not sure. He suspected that she liked having the ability to sneak up on them at random times of the day. Elrond had been pulled back into the needs of the hidden valley and had frequently left Rivendell to join his warriors on rides around the perimeter. Bilbo loved spending time with the dwarrows, but he also missed the times before their arrival, when he would spend hours sorting books with Arwen in the library and then have a long supper with them both as they told each other about their day.

 

He was now walking along the stone paths that led to the healer’s quarters, having left Kili with an exasperated glance over his shoulder. The air was still a bit cool in Rivendell but had greatly warmed up in comparison to the weeks before. The birds had begun singing merrily in the trees again; flowers had opened up in bloom in a few places amongst the reviving greenery of the hidden valley.  The other elves of Rivendell had taken to relaxing in the sunshine, sometimes playing on harps and flutes. It all made for a beautiful walk and soothed the hobbit’s peace of mind.

 

He was always a little worried before these appointments, irrationally so, as he’d used the utmost care with his now rather large stomach. The elves had had to have special garments tailored for him, as he did not fit into his other tunics and trousers. That had been a very uncomfortable conversation and fitting, but he had made it through without too much embarrassment and teasing from the dwarrows. For reasons he could not understand, he had taken to wearing blue lately. A curious thing, he acknowledged, but…who knows…

 

He’d finally made it to the room that he had been having these meetings in and saw Arwen was already there, setting up various little items here and there. She wore a light green dress with small silver sandals and had her hair pulled up into a long braid that swayed slightly with her movements. She turned towards the door at his light knock and smiled.

 

“Ah, here at last, Bilbo.” She drew him to an elevated bed along the side of the wall and had him lie down on the comfy pillows and sheets.

 

He returned her smile, feeling that he’d made the correct choice. He already felt immensely more at ease with Arwen.

 

“So, what have you been up to today, my friend? Nothing to strenuous, I hope,” She fixed him a stern look at this and smoothed the edge of his tunic over the large bump of his belly. Arwen had only become more motherly as his pregnancy had progressed. Luckily, she was often so gentle and seemingly unassuming with her protectiveness that Bilbo did not feel smothered in the least. He snapped the head off of any other being that would question his capability, something the dwarrows had learned very quickly upon their discovery of his condition. He liked to blame the extra hormones swimming in his blood for his rather quick tempered attitude lately, as well as the sometimes unbearable need for physical contact. That last one had embarrassed him on many occasions at first, but both the dwarrows and the elves proved willing and happy to cater to this. Kili sometimes hugged him without any prompting at all.

 

“Just perusing the library for a bit, having a cup of tea too. I watched Kili practice his archery for a little while,” He said absently, feeling her gentle fingers prodding softly in some places around his belly. “At a safe distance, of course.” He added at her sharp glance.

 

Arwen greatly disapproved of any situation that had Bilbo’s pregnant self near weapons sharp or dull. She had forbid him fro any of the sporting events that the elf males sometimes liked to engage in, and would have stopped him from watching the dwarrows practice their skills altogether, had he not bargained with her. Rationally he knew that she could not keep him from any of these events, but one does not tempt the wrath of Lady Arwen. He’d ride on the back of a warg before he’d purposefully anger Arwen. And her demands were certainly reasonable, so he really had no issue following them. It just made his afternoons a little less exciting.

 

“Good,” She nodded rather imperiously, before grinning at Bilbo slyly. “The dwarf prince has been practicing an awful lot lately.”

 

“I believe you’ve threatened his dwarfhood, my lady,” Bilbo chuckled. “His skills have been undermined by not only an elf, but a female one at that. I can only imagine what his brother would say, had he witnessed it.”

 

Fili would have tortured his brother relentlessly, he was sure. Kili had not said anything of the sort, but Bilbo was sure he missed his brother something fierce. They had rarely been separated since they were little dwarflings. Kili had insisted on remaining until his little cousin was born, but his loneliness was not so easily disguised. Bilbo felt guilty whenever he caught Kili looking out in the direction of Erebor, as thought imagining his brother riding toward them on the horizon, eager for trouble and mischief.

 

“I had not realized he was so insecure about that,” She wondered innocently, though her mouth had formed a small smirk. “Perhaps it would not have been necessary had he been a little more concerned on the matter.” She still looked at Kili with a highly suspicious eye, as though the dwarf prince was seconds away from creating the next disaster. He probably was, to be honest. Kili wore mayhem and hilarity like a cloak upon his person.

 

“I’m going to use a little of my magic now, if you approve. You should feel only a slight warmth around the baby.” He nodded and closed his eyes serenely, having complete faith in his elf friend. She smiled at this, grateful to have earned such trust from the hobbit who had seemed to shy away from her touch before.

 

He relaxed into the steady heat encompassing his lower abdomen, allowing her to do her work. He nearly fell asleep after a few minutes of this, drowsily becoming aware of the fading warmth and the gentle grip of Arwen’s hand upon his.

 

“Everything seems to be in order. You are in excellent health, as is the babe, though I am going to insist that you continue to slow down over the next few weeks. You are not invincible, my friend. Resting when it is necessary and beneficial does not make you weak or incapable. On the contrary, it means that you are intelligent enough to understand your limitations.” At this, she placed her slim hand lightly on the swell of his stomach. “And that you are no longer a solitary hobbit dashing off on an adventure.”

 

He nodded acceptingly at this, acknowledging to himself that he had been feeling rather tired lately and should probably take Arwen’s advice and settle down, but it was hard to watch the exuberance that Kili displayed nearly every minute of every day and not find it catching.

 

“Bilbo,” She began quietly, a little hesitant. “I’ve been meaning to ask you a few questions about the nature of your pregnancy, so that I can better advise you. Will you permit this?” She was being especially careful in her manner with him, and Bilbo supposed he deserved this. He had been rather closemouthed about the nature of hobbit pregnancies, so used to keeping the knowledge secret from everyone. He hadn’t meant to do so, really, but he had indeed, influenced by decades of pressure and propriety. It was coming close to the time wherein they needed to know these things anyway, as they prepared for the oncoming due date, though it was still a couple months away. And he wanted to share these secrets with his friends.

 

“Sure,” He replied heartily. “Ask away. I will answer to the best of my ability, though there are some things even I am not entirely sure of about male pregnancies.”

 

Arwen pulled a small leather bound book from the bedside table nearby and withdrew a quill from the contents of the drawer. She asked him with a silent look if this was okay, and he smiled encouragingly.

 

“Well, then, let’s begin with a few of the basics, shall we?” She waited for his nod, before continuing, “Do you know what the race of your child will be?”

 

He hummed affirmatively. “In the cases we’ve documented over the years, when a hobbit male…procreates,” Bilbo stumbled over his words awkwardly, a blush rising in his face. “with a member of a different race, the child of said union takes after the…the one who…” He trailed off there, his face red as a garden beet, his eyes begging here to understand.

 

Arwen struggled not to laugh, only allowing herself a small ladylike snort, before saving the hobbit from further embarrassment. “So, the baby will be a dwarf?”

 

He nodded quickly, her hands tugging his tunic back over his baby bump, and looking back at Arwen, the blood slowly retreating from his cheeks.

 

“Is there any method for predicting the gender of the child?” Arwen continued her questions with a friendly smile, which Bilbo appreciated.

 

“No, nothing definite. There are old wives tales, of course, like the jiggle-the-pickle method, but nothing substantial. We’ll just have to be surprised, I suppose.”

 

Arwen looked at him with wide eyes. “Jiggle the what?” She asked incredulously.

 

Bilbo flushed again, even the tips of his ears becoming enflamed. “Nevermind, it’s nothing. Just silly nonsense.” He gave her a look that clearly demanded she leave it alone.

 

“Well then,” She coughed a bit to hide her laughter. “One more question for the day then.” She stopped for a moment and affected a more serious air. “I know you’re expecting this one, and I understand that it makes you uncomfortable, but we really need to know, Bilbo.” She reached across the space between them and held his hand tightly. “How, exactly, is the baby going to make its way out?”

 

Bilbo didn’t say anything for a minute, shifting stiffly on the bed, before he muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

 

Arwen leaned in a little closer. “Bilbo? I apologize, but I wasn’t able to hear you clearly.”

 

He sighed but straightened his back and looked the elf firmly in the eyes. “I was told, when I was young and we were first learning about all this, that…a channel would be...created…when it is needed.”

 

She looked at him rather warily, wrapping her mind around that. “So…similar to the female process of giving birth?”

 

“Well, not exactly, but….yes, I suppose.” He looked at her hesitantly, wondering at her thoughts on the matter. She didn’t seemed fazed by much of what she had heard; if anything, she seemed a little relieved.

 

“Well, I have helped give birth to many before,” She told him confidently. Bilbo felt instantly better at the surety in her eyes and the smile she wore brightly. “It will be a little different, of course, but I feel that we will be able to perform to standard.” She gave him a small wink, before handing him a cup of tea that he had not even noticed her pouring. “Now, what have the dwarrows been up to today? I have not been able to watch them, as I was preparing for our appointment.”

 

Bilbo breathed easier at the change of topic, laughing at his friend. “You’re developing quite the talent, you know. I imagine your father will be quite pleased once he hears…”

 

* * *

 

 

That night, a group of dwarrows gathered around a small campfire after a long day’s ride. Though the speed at which they traveled was fast indeed, they were still a few days off from the hidden valley of Imladris. Thorin had pushed the small company of dwarrows much faster than necessary, anxious to finish this errand in Rivendell quickly. It would take him at least a month to make it to the Shire, and the dwarf king was determined that the journey take no more than that, if he could help it.

 

The pace was certainly wearing out some of the dwarrows that accompanied him, royal guards hand-picked by Dwalin who had not experienced the fast, rough life on the road for quite some time. They ate their soup around the fire, talking loudly and occasionally laughing uproariously. Fili sat with them, joining in on their discussions as though he were not the heir to the throne, even though the mithril armor and fur cloak gave away his status.

 

Thorin himself sat a little ways away, Dwalin by his side, having finished the soup a few minutes before. It was not nearly as good as Bombur’s food, though Thorin could not reasonably expect that any of the royal guards could compete with the chef to the royal family.

 

During the reconstruction of Erebor, every dwarf member of the original company received elevated status amongst their various fields. Bombur, as said before, had taken over charge of the kitchens and had been doing a superb job at that. With proper and plentiful ingredients, Bombur’s meals were incredibly delicious, always satisfactory. Rumor was that he had found a young dwarf lass that also worked in the kitchens and had been attempting to win her heart.

 

His brother and cousin, Bofur and Bifur, had taken charge of the excavation teams that headed down into the mines day in and day out. Their job was to repair the damage down by the dragon Smaug and to locate any other deterrents to the continued mining of the stone. Their progress was slow, as they had encountered much damage from the dragon’s inhabitance as well as discovered a number of other unsavory creatures had taken up residence in the mines. When Thorin and his small company left a week or so ago, they had been making steady progress through the eastern caverns.

 

Dori and Ori had both become in charge of the Erebor Library, which had been in vast disrepair for a very long time. Dori had stayed behind, continuing his relentless mission to have the library back to its former glory before the end of the year. Ori had left with the Rivendell caravan hoping to copy down some of the vast knowledge in the library there to bring back. Dori handled the matters that required the most social interaction, as Ori was still rather shy and quiet.

 

Nori had become the kingdom’s ‘information specialist’, which was the more political term for surveyor of the underground of Erebor. As this was a job that Nori was especially good at and truly enjoyed, Thorin had not had much to worry about by way of criminals or mutineers. He had heard a whisper here and there, but the next day the problem would have been swiftly, quietly, and brutally resolved.

 

Oin had become a prominent healer, in charge of teaching the younger healers and organizing them to suit the needs of the kingdom. His primary job was that he was the healer of the royal family, though he had not been needed by them for a good couple of months now, as they had recovered from their war wounds splendidly. He liked to credit their accelerated recovery to his own herbal remedies and concoctions, which he liked to call ‘ointments’. These ‘ointments’ were quickly becoming a popular item used by all of the Erebor healers.

 

Gloin had begun work repairing the smithing halls, making it easier for dwarrows to craft axes, swords, shovels, hammer, and the like. He was dividing his time between work and his family, who had arrived at Erebor soon after the last battle. His wife and son Gimli had been overjoyed to see him, and he in return. Fili had heard from Oin that Gloin’s wife was actually expecting another child.

 

All in all, the former company of Thorin Oakenshield, with the exception of Bilbo Baggins, had found their perfect positions within Erebor and had begun the lives they had always dreamed of in their homeland. Thorin had taken special care to keep in touch with each member, ensuring that they were very well off and content with their lives.

 

If only he had been so attentive to Bilbo.

 

Thorin sighed morosely, looking into the fire with unseeing eyes. Dwalin thumped him on the back at this, understanding what was on his king’s mind but knew not what to say; Emotions were not exactly Dwalin’s forte.

 

Thorin appreciated this, nonetheless, choosing to give his old friend a small smile before returning his gaze to the fire.

 

With the speed they were going, they should reach the hidden valley within three days time. He was still unsure what had caused his nephew and most trusted advisor to linger there for so long, but in spite of his curiosity on the matter, his true thoughts were elsewhere, on a pristine, well-kept hobbit hole, far to the west. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I hope you’ve enjoyed this chapter, even though you must wait just a little bit longer for the main event. ;)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Meaning of a Flower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: You are not mistaken; this is a monster of a chapter, considering my previous ones ranged between 3,500 to 3,700. This chapter totals in 6,643 words long. Shew. I nearly broke it into two chapters, but…well, anyway. I labored over this chapter all week, and I’m still not sure if I am satisfied with it, but I made myself cry, so there’s that. I did buy the hobbit on DVD!!!! X3 In hobbit heaven!!!!! Eeeeeeeeee!!!! While I was watching it, though, a new idea for a Bagginshield Fanfiction was inspired in my brain. =.= And I fear it won’t leave me alone! It will not be posted for a little while, as I’m going to write the entire outline and a few chapters first, I believe, but it should be showing up soon, probably after I’ve finished this one. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter! ☺

Bilbo could not sit still, even with the soothing pull and brush of Arwen’s fingers through his long, curly hair as she braided the golden mass expertly and effortlessly. He was beginning to believe that messengers would be the death of him. First, one had brought news of the caravan’s arrival, and he nearly had a heart attack at that. Now, a messenger had brought news of an approaching party of dwarrows, the king of Erebor and his crown prince amongst them.

 

Bilbo was rather ashamed to know that he had fainted at this piece of news, like some fanciful tween hobbit lass. Arwen and Elrond had been careful not to mention it whatsoever, but as Kili had been the one to save him from falling right off his chair, there was little hope that the prince would not tease him for it, even in light of the knowledge that his uncle and brother were on their way to disturb the hobbit’s peace. Kili had pranced around the buildings that day, proclaiming himself Bilbo’s knight in shining dwarf armor and had generally caused plenty of chaos in his wake, excited that his brother would be joining him soon.

 

Amusing though this was, it could not distract Bilbo from the fact that Thorin Oakenshield was barely a few hours away from reaching Rivendell, having surprised the House of Elrond with this abrupt and unexpected visit.

 

“I think I might be sick, Arwen,” He warned her quietly, his face indeed looking a little green.

 

“Here,” She said warmly, handing him a cup of steaming herbal tea, “This is a personal brew of mine. It should help settle your stomach.” She continued weaving his hair, and sure enough, Bilbo felt a little reassured a few minutes later, lulled by the sweet drink and the tender movements of Arwen’s work.

 

“Arwen…what am I going to do?” He asked quieter still, closing his eyes against the amounting anxiety constricting his chest.

 

Arwen stopped her weaving and curled an arm around the small hobbit’s shoulders, offering comfort. “Do you remember what my father and I told you a month ago, before the arrival of the dwarf caravan?” She asked, her voice strong and gentle.

 

A smile broke unwillingly over Bilbo’s face, reminding him again of how unbelievably fortunate it was that he had come to Rivendell all those months ago and sought shelter in the house of Lord Elrond.

 

“We may be of a different race,” Arwen leaned her head against him and spoke into his pointed ear. “But we will always be of the same heart. The entire world could come here to seek you out, and we would shelter you all the same, until the very end. Remember this, and you have nothing to fear, Bilbo Baggins.”

 

Bilbo blinked his eyes furiously, fighting back the tears that had made their way there. He reached up a hand and held onto her arm over his chest, in awe of the acceptance he had found here and incredibly grateful for this, the family he had come to be a part of.

 

“This is your home now too,” She continued, straightening up and withdrawing her arms, though her hand brushed against the side of his face with care. “You will always be safe here, my dear friend.”

 

They continued on in companionable silence for a little bit, Arwen repairing the intricate braids that had come loose, Bilbo sipping his tea contentedly, before Arwen said rather playfully, “Besides, weren’t you planning on spending the evening in the inner gardens? No respectable dwarf would ever enter an elf’s garden. It would insult their dwarf nature to perform such a ‘tree-lover’ act.” She used the more polite slur that the dwarrows sometimes used to describe the elves, as she was a lady and not prone to sullying herself with such language.

 

Bilbo snorted at this; he was pretty sure that the dwarrows could be near starving and would still refuse to eat anything an elf gave them to eat, out of suspicion or stubborn pride.

 

He had originally planned on spending the entire day in the inner gardens of Rivendell, an oasis of nature near the heart of the valley’s stronghold. Lord Elrond had revealed a few days previous that the flowers were now in full bloom and looked quite stunning in the early spring light. Bilbo had been looking forward to discovering this for himself at leisure, but…perhaps he could forgive himself this small cowardice for one night. He did not at all like that he would be hiding himself away, much like how he had felt with the caravan’s arrival, but this was not the same as that. Not nearly so.

 

Bilbo had thought he would have years before he had to face Thorin Oakenshield again, and now…now he had scarcely a couple of hours. He could forgive himself this small retreat, if only to prepare for the on-coming battle.

 

He nodded softly to Arwen, who gave him a small pinch for moving his head whilst she worked and chuckled at his indignant huff in return.

  

* * *

 

Thorin left the dinner hall while supper was still very much underway. He walked away slowly, wanting to savor the sounds of his companions’ revelry but also desiring peace. Upon their arrival, Fili and Kili had instantly embraced, ecstatic to be reunited, and had not left the other’s side since, devouring food and laughing merrily at the table, uncaring of the stoic politeness of their elvish hosts. Thorin’s reception amongst their kin who had been lingering there in Rivendell was warm, but there was a tension in their bodies whenever they interacted with them. He could see it most clearly in his interactions with Kili, whose personality had always held a youthful openness. Now, it seemed as though he were holding back, his lips always pursed slightly as though muting words.

 

Thorin wondered at this; he had noticed the same tension in Balin, who had been strict and impersonal with him before his departure with the caravan to display his disapproval of his treatment of Bilbo. The older dwarf’s experience and intelligence made him a worthy stronghold for all of the royal family’s secrets, his diplomatically neutral face never betraying. And yet, there was something, a secret that he carried with him on his person this night, that even Thorin could sense. Dwalin had noticed it as well, as he would give his brother a searching look every now and then, his heavy brow furrowed with curiosity and a little concern.

 

The dwarf king could not see really any difference in the behavior of Ori, as he had not known him long enough or at any level of intimacy to understand the nuances of the young dwarf’s behavior. Ori had always had trouble looking Thorin in the eye and talking to him without stuttering or breathing rather rapidly. Thorin had even taken to avoiding interactions with the young librarian, as he was concerned at the negative effect his presence seemed to have on him. Through the night, Ori had stuck close to Kili’s side, which was not surprising as there was a strong friendship between them from their adventures.

 

A couple of elves passed by the meandering dwarf, light eyes narrowed at him with barely disguised distaste. When last he had been in Rivendell, the elves had been admittedly condescending and prone to subtle mockery at the dwarrows’ expense, but at the very least they had been friendly. Now that he had noticed it amongst his own kin, Thorin could discern the tension present in the elves as well. They treated their dwarrow guests with rather cool attitudes, their smiles polite yet icy; their eyes held outright dislike more often than not.

 

The change in Lord Elrond had been the most noticeable, however. The elf lord’s disposition towards them had cooled exponentially, in particular when he talked with Thorin. He had not smiled even once since the dwarrows had arrived, and it was rather unnerving to see the elf who had been warm and even friendly to them before sit through supper with a slight, forbidding frown forming his lips.

 

A ray of moonlight fell upon the dwarf’s face, removing him gently from his ruminations. He had reached the entrance of the valley’s gardens without realizing it. It was not so far from the dining hall to be considered a long walk, but for Thorin to be so distracted that he had not even noticed where his feet were carrying him was indeed unusual. This had happened occasionally in Erebor. Usually when his thoughts were centered on his lost lover.

 

Thorin stepped into the moonlit garden, prompted by the painful longing that filled his chest. Seeing all of these flowers, small delicate flowers with soft petals of light blue, shy pink, and vibrant white, reminded him of Bilbo Baggins and the lessons he had taught the dwarf about the nature of plants and the meaning of flowers, his voice warm and amused at the gruff somewhat chagrined expression on his face.

 

As the dwarf king walked through these gardens, he noticed the small patches of pink flowers, emboldened with one thin ring of petals. They had seen these along the Great East Road, when the weather was still warm and the sun shining brightly. Bilbo had been telling Ori about the meaning of the flowers as understood by Shire folk; Thorin had eavesdropped and had snorted quietly when Bilbo said the flowers meant peace. There had been a pause, where Thorin wondered if the hobbit had heard his derision, but Bilbo had continued a moment after, unperturbed.

 

A little further into the gardens were tall yellow flowers with long petals enfolding from the stem like feathers, their bright nature nearly indistinguishable in the dim ethereal cast by the moon. The company had passed through the Gladden Fields, east of the Misty Mountains, and had seen many a flower as this; Bilbo revealed that they were symbols of passion and inspiration, though he had never seen any in person before then, having gathered knowledge of flowers outside the realm of the Shire through his many books and records. When they had traveled to Beorn’s residence, these flowers and also clovers, little white buds with tiny spindles, had been growing in the fields there as well, nutrients for the giant swarming bees. Thorin had not needed to eavesdrop this time; after Bilbo’s heroic, if foolhardy, act of throwing himself between Thorin and his would-be orc executioner, Thorin had begun making a better effort of learning about the hobbit. As they walked side by side, Thorin had listened to Bilbo’s awkward but friendly explanations about hobbit culture.

 

Thinking back to those days filled Thorin with incredible pain. Though he had had plenty of time to think on the journey to Rivendell, the dwarf was no closer to knowing exactly what he would say to Bilbo. He rehearsed his words over and over in his head, always finding them paltry in comparison to the depth that he felt. He wondered at the end of this venture, if the hobbit’s peaceful and forgiving nature had endured what a foolish dwarf king’s pride and greed had damaged. Perhaps Thorin would reach that bright emerald green door, similar in color to the young hobbit’s eyes, and would have Bilbo slam that door in his face the second the hobbit recognized who stood outside his home.

 

Thorin sighed, moving morosely through the garden paths, his eyes trained mostly on the heavy leather clad toes of his feet. A bird took flight in a nearby tree with a burst of noise, causing Thorin to look upward absently, and that is when he caught sight of the figure standing a little ways away, half bathed in silvery moonlight, half in shadow. Thorin stepped back around the edge of the walkway to look on in curiosity. Most of the elves were enjoying supper in the dining hall, and none seemed keen on a walk through the gardens at night.

 

The figure was small in stature, shorter even than a dwarf. Thorin estimated that there was nearly a foot difference between himself and the other. Long golden hair was braided in large, intricate weaves down the slender back and curled over the small shoulders, a wild quality about the tresses as though there had been a curly vibrance to its length that had been tempered for a time. The figure wore the traditional clothes of the elves, a long light green colored tunic and similar trousers. A flash of brightness atop the golden head revealed a thin headband of silver leaves, holding the hair back from the face cast in shadow. A foreboding lump formed in the dwarf’s throat. He noticed the figure’s pointed ears and the shape of a rather large foot partly hidden by shadow, long curls springing from the skin.

 

A roaring sound began to fill Thorin’s ears, and he experienced a strange nauseating detachment from his limbs. He gripped the edge of the garden wall, feeling as though he were standing at the edge of a high cliff, but he could not draw his eyes away from the figure, feeling the breath leaves his lungs as the small form shifted fully into the moonlight, fingers lifting the petal of a small blue flower encased in a bundle of like flowers. Forget-me-nots. Given to hobbit males by their partners before a long separation, usually to a city of man for trading purposes, as hobbits never had cause to go to war.

 

 _Bilbo_.

 

His hobbit’s face was still as stunning and beautiful to Thorin as it had been that night in Lake-town, cast in silvery moonlight. With the long wealth of hair framing his face, Bilbo seemed nearly ethereal, an unearthly beauty surpassing that of any elf, man, or dwarf. Thorin looked at the hobbit’s face with a near desperate longing, his eyes lingering on Bilbo’s small pointed nose, high rosy cheeks, small pink lips. His bright hazel eyes, a perfect blend of the forest’s verdant glow and the soil’s vigor, framed by rings of black lashes. As those eyes looked down upon the flower, there was heartbreaking sadness in them, and Thorin knew what Bilbo must be thinking at the sight of those flowers. That Thorin had forgotten him forever.

 

Thorin felt his mouth open as though to call out to him, his eyes misting and his face creasing in pain, when he finally caught sight of the rest of the hobbit’s small form. A large swell rose from the hobbit’s abdomen, too firm and rounded to be simple food weight. The hand not touching the forget-me-not flower smoothed over the small hill, clad only in a light tunic even in the descending chill of an early spring night.

 

He gasped, unable to control the surprise paralyzing his body, watching with his mouth slightly open and eyes wide, as Bilbo’s head shot up and focused on him through the dim light.

 

Bilbo’s face blanched terribly, his peach and rose colored skin becoming snow white in a heartbeat. He looked about to be sick.

 

They stared at each other, frozen in abject horror and surprise, before a light feminine voice called from the other side of the pathway.

 

“Bilbo, it is becoming much too cold for you to linger here any longer. The dwarrows have retired to their rooms for the night, so it is much safer to—“

 

A tall female elf had come into view, her long sweeping brown hair trailing over a slender shoulder encased in deep burgundy cloth. She froze momentarily when she caught sight of the dwarf king standing transfixed on the other side of the path, staring at the hobbit with astounded eyes. She recovered quickly, moving to Bilbo in long strides and crossing in front of him, shielding him from Thorin’s gaze.

 

He could only blink at her dumbly, his mind moving incredibly slowly even while the breath pushed through his lungs with alarming speed. He vaguely recognized her as Arwen, Lord Elrond’s daughter, but the fact meant nothing to the dwarf. Not when Bilbo was standing right there.

 

She fixed him with a hard, grey-eyed stare, standing in front of the hobbit with a deceptively relaxed stance, though her pale hand could be seen resting on the hilt of the blade she carried on her hip. She opened her mouth as though to speak but was interrupted by a short, firm command, disguised in the elvish tongue.

 

A tall shadow moved from around the wall from whence the female elf had come, as though summoned by the mounting tension within. Lord Elrond, dressed in robes dark as the blue depths of the sea, moved with deadly grace through the dim garden to the frozen dwarf king.

 

At his arrival, his daughter Arwen quickly gathered up the now shaking and pale hobbit in her arms and was leading him toward the rear entrance of the gardens, gentle but with urgency. She threw back a furious glare at the dwarf but otherwise left with little action.

 

Thorin had stepped forward at their disappearance, some instinctual drive urging him to follow, but was stopped by Lord Elrond, who he looked upon blankly, still trapped in a whirlwind of confusion, shock and the beginnings of a horrified realization. The elf lord had stepped into his path, unmoving as the mountains his valley was enshrouded in, and fixed Thorin with a stern eye, startlingly similar to the one his daughter had just leveled upon him.

 

“Perhaps it would be best if you and I retired to my study, Master Oakenshield,” Lord Elrond said lowly, and though the words were formed as if they were a suggestion, Thorin recognized them as a thinly veiled order. While this would have rankled the dwarf king’s pride, too much had happened within the space of a few minutes to allow him to be properly wrathful at the prospect of an elf commanding him.

 

Lord Elrond walked steadily towards him and placed a firm hand upon his shoulder, prompting Thorin to turn back the way he had come, away from the direction his hobbit had left in. Thorin trailed after him listlessly, a dull thrum echoing in his mind before the numbness abruptly vanished with one thought.

 

 _Pregnant_.

 

Bilbo Baggins, his burglar, his hobbit, his _male_ hobbit, was pregnant.

 

Thorin staggered abruptly against the stone walls of Rivendell’s halls, tripping over his own feet and nearly propelling himself face first onto the floor. Lord Elrond turned to him quickly at this, frowning in concern. Thorin vaguely heard loud pounding footsteps and a low grizzly voice calling as if from a great distance.

 

“Thorin! Ye all right? What the blazes-“

 

Thorin cut Dwalin off shortly, his eyes staring fixedly on the floor as his thoughts flew around and landed on a variety of thoughts.

 

“How—When did—What—Who-”

 

Lord Elrond stood nearby with his hands folded in front of him, staring emotionlessly back at the dwarf king. He clearly understood what was being asked of him but seemed unwilling to tell.

 

Thorin felt a hot, fiery burning in his stomach, his wide blue eyes staring desperately into Elrond’s, the strong supportive hand of his old friend on his shoulder unnoticed in his urgency.

 

“ _What is going on?_ ” Thorin rasped, his deep voice broken and mangled.

 

There was a flicker in Lord Elrond’s grey eyes, perhaps surprise, perhaps compassion. A long sigh escaped from his mouth, and a weariness settled along his brow. He moved further along the walkway and paused, turning his head in the direction of the two dwarrows.

 

“You seek answers from me that are not mine to give, Master Oakenshield,” He said softly. There was another pause, before he continued, “And I believe you will have to wait a while longer to hear them in full, but…I believe he will not resent me giving you this.” He turned to face ahead again, his head slightly bowed.

 

Thorin couldn’t catch a breath and leant heavily onto his hand placed flat against the wall as support. He waited, ears straining to listen to the elf lord’s low voice, little over a whisper now.

 

“There was only ever one being that held Bilbo’s heart…and despite everything…”

 

That was all the elf said before he swept off into the darkness of the hallway, disappearing from sight.

 

Thorin felt adrift in a sea of confusion, horror, shock, shame, and a faint glimmer of anticipation that was currently being smothered by all else. He had not felt such violent emotions since the fall of Erebor and the Battle of Azanulbizar, where he lost both his grandfather and his father, and was made leader of hundreds upon hundreds of dwarrows, depending upon him to save them, when he was not even sure he could save himself.

 

The immediacy of his need to have his questions answered battered at his mind and heart. He felt so much at once. From the very moment that, deep in the elvish dungeons of Mirkwood, Bilbo had reached his hand through the bars of Thorin’s prison and grasped the dwarf’s hand tight, giving him a smile that reminded Thorin of the summer sun, the dwarf had known that Bilbo was his One. The One being that he would love for all of his days, as dwarrows only truly love once in their long lifetimes. Because even in the deepest, darkest depths of the foulest prison Thorin could ever imagine for himself, trapped by the elves who had betrayed his father and grandfather, Bilbo had managed to give him hope.

 

The love they had shared most blessedly since that night in Lake-town seemed like a blissful dream. It had been strong, true, and invincible. He had believed that nothing on Middle Earth and beyond could tear them apart. Even in the wake of all that had happened since then, Thorin still believed in the connection, the bond, and the heart they shared. Now he could only hope that Bilbo felt the same and was willing to forgive this prideful, stubborn, unworthy fool of a dwarf and give him another chance.

 

A forehead smashed into his own, bringing him back to reality suddenly and with no small amount of pain. Dwalin was watching his king carefully for signs of awareness and was relieved at the small glare Thorin leveled at him. He watched silently as Thorin righted himself before he leveled a glare of his own at his old friend.

 

“What has happened?” He growled quietly. Thorin could only stand there and looked at him for a moment, still in his traveling gear and clothes, his battle-axes crossed over his back in their leather harnesses.

 

“Everything,”

 

* * *

 

 

Bilbo settled against the giant pillows on his bed, clutching a large cup of tea in his still quivering hands. The heat of the tea was still enough to cause a tingle of pain in his palms, but he barely noticed the small burning. He was staring fixedly at the downy blue coverlet lying over his legs, doggedly ignoring the female elf fuming in the large comfy armchair next to the bed.

 

“Even the idea is preposterous!” Arwen huffed, nursing her forehead with a long slim hand. She could feel a head ache coming on fast. “I do not believe a dwarf has ever entered the inner gardens of Imladris, much less a dwarf king! It is one of the strongest veins of contention amongst our races.” She sighed heavily, looking up at her friend with a heartfelt apology in her eyes. “I am sorry, Bilbo. I believed that you would be left in peace there; not even your dwarrows know of the inner sanctum’s garden. How on Middle Earth that dwarf in particular was able to find it…”

 

“Indeed,” Balin said from his place by the softly simmering fire, casting a wry look on the female elf and the silent hobbit. “I have never met a dwarf with less sense of direction than Thorin Oakenshield. Even his nephews are more reliable in that regard.”

 

The rest of the dwarrows, Kili and Ori included, were off in a different personal apartment, aware that something had transpired that night but unsure what. Thorin and Dwalin had retreated into the king’s personal rooms quickly upon their return to the guests’ suites. Not a word could be heard from the cracks along the side and bottom of the door, according to Kili and Fili. They were amusing themselves with various games and topics of discussion, though Fili had not yet been able to pry the reason for their prolonged stay at Rivendell from his brother and friend. Presumably, Fili was now the only dwarf of the original company there that did not know of Bilbo’s presence in Rivendell or of his condition.

 

It was rather unfair to Fili, Bilbo acknowledged to himself, but he had no intention of leaving to inform the dwarf prince. No, he had enough to concern himself with, such as the on-coming collision of hobbit and dwarf king in what was sure to be an emotionally charged, confusticated mess.

 

 After that disastrous meeting in the garden with the one dwarf Bilbo had hoped to avoid for a little while longer, Arwen had helped Bilbo back to his rooms, fixed him a cup of tea, and had mothered him for nearly an hour, before finally slumping down into her armchair as she was, looking tired and frustrated. Bilbo had meekly accepted the handling, trying to pretend that his world had not just collapsed around his shoulders.

 

He knew before the night was finished, Thorin would come to his door and demand to see him. After all of the nervous tension, anxiety, and downright fear that had lingered about this event, Bilbo was finally sick of it all. If that confounded dwarf was going to come in here and disrupt his peace, then so be it. That did not mean that Bilbo was going to make this any easier on him.

 

With that thought in mind, Bilbo finally raised his eyes. His companions were watching him steadily, waiting for him to react, to give them some sign of what they were to do next.

 

“Well,” He said shortly, taking a sip from his warm drink. “I—I knew this day would come, eventually. Certainly not any time soon or in such a manner, but… such is the nature of fate, no?”

 

Arwen and Balin shared a look, before turning back to him warily.

 

“Are you all right now, then? Earlier you seemed pale as a ghost…” Arwen asked softly.

 

The breath whooshed from Bilbo’s lips in an exhausted huff. “I am just so—so through with all of this business!” He sputtered, frustrated with the situation and himself. “I’ve thought about this for a long time, about what it would be like, what would happen…how he would react. I’m done worrying about all this nonsense!” He threw back his tea, swallowing with three large gulps, and turned back to them with determined hazel eyes, though he was not so emboldened that a faint glimmer of anxiety could not be seen. “Were he to knock on that door this very second—“

 

As though the words had summoned it, a couple knocks echoed through Bilbo’s chambers, sending a ripple of shock through its inhabitants.

 

Bilbo’s eyes became very wide, and his face a little more pale, but he gave Arwen a firm look. She rose from the chair with all the elegance of her race and strode to the door. She opened it just enough to see who was asking for entrance.

 

A deep, rough voice could be heard then, a voice that Bilbo would have recognized anywhere. “May I see him?” There was a raggedness to Thorin’s voice that had Bilbo sitting up straighter, staring at the door.

 

Arwen opened the door just enough to slip out herself and closed the door behind her with a firm hand. Bilbo and Balin shared a speculative look. Neither envied the dwarf on the other side of the door, no doubt facing the cold fury that only the fairest of races seemed to have mastered. 

 

A few moments passed, not a sound coming from outside, before the door opened again, and Thorin entered, looking warily behind him at the female elf standing rigidly in the hallway. Balin took this as his cue to leave, but he cast a measuring look at both Thorin and Bilbo before he left without a word, closing the door quietly behind him.

 

For a few moments, the two stared at each other, neither sure what to say, where to go from here. Bilbo took this opportunity to study the dwarf king for the first time in many months and became a little curious at what he found. Thorin was just as ruggedly handsome and severe as he had been before, his deep blue eyes both piercing and stony. He wore a deep blue tunic lined with interwoven rivers of gold, long black pants folded neatly into his furred boots. He wore no weapons on him, not even Orcrist, which had been reluctantly returned to him by the king of Mirkwood once negotiations began. His hair was loose, dark and wild, holding only a few ceremonial braids of his line. Bilbo was shocked to notice that the dwarf’s beard was as shorn as it had been on the journey, a dark christening of stubble on his proud chin.

 

For all the world, he seemed the same dwarf that Bilbo had last seen slaying orcs and goblins alike on the field of battle, and yet he could see something else. Sanity had returned to those deep blue eyes, and an overwhelming sadness had made a home in the dark rings under them and in the slump of the king’s shoulders. For a moment, Bilbo wondered if a being had ever carried such a weight on their shoulders as Thorin Oakenshield had, and clearly reclaiming his kingdom had not rid him of this.

 

A heavy breath heaved from Thorin’s lungs. He walked toward Bilbo cautiously, watching his eyes for any sign of fear or repugnance there, and having found none, he sat in the armchair that Arwen had vacated, leaning forward onto his knees.

 

Bilbo had certainly felt braver when he was just in the presence of Arwen and Balin and proclaiming his indifference to Thorin’s appearance. Now, his throat felt clogged, his lungs heavy and unwieldy, his heart unsure, and he could only watch Thorin watch him steadily. But more than fear at what Thorin might have to say to him, Bilbo could not stand this silence, this standstill.

 

“I suppose…you want to know how this happened,” He whispered quietly, looking down at the soft swell of his stomach. He waited a moment for Thorin to give him some sign he was listening, but the dwarf just stared at him blankly. “It’s a closely guarded secret of the Shire…the most guarded, I’d say. That males can become…” His words tapered off quietly, before he began again, his heart thumping loudly in his chest like a war drum. “At the time, I had not realized that I might…because it is harder with other races, you know, but…perhaps I should have expected it.” At this, he smiled with a little bit of self-mockery. “These things always seem to happen to me, don’t they.”

 

“Did you know?” Thorin suddenly asked, his voice rough as the edges of mountains. “That day…that I had you sent away?”

 

“Would it have mattered?” Bilbo returned quietly. He was not prepared for the violent change of emotion this question brought.

 

“Of course it would have mattered!” Thorin shouted hoarsely, standing up from the chair and striding over to the fire. “I—I had no idea that you—that you could even become—“ He broke off shortly, silence encompassing the room before he punched the stone fireplace so forcefully, pieces of white rock clattered to the floor. “It would have changed _everything_!”

 

Bilbo looked on in shock, and he scooted back to the headboard a little fearfully when Thorin whipped around to look at him, his face contorted with pain and anger and an unbearable sadness.

 

“Do you see this? _Do you see what you have done to me_? If anything could have broken the gold’s hold over me, it would have been this!” His voice was shaking now, his large hands clenching fiercely by his side. He looked as though he were in agony. “To know that you, that my One was with child, _my child_ —nothing could have stopped me then. _Nothing_ could have stopped me from fighting that damn curse of my line! Nothing could have prevented me from returning to myself! _Nothing could have kept me from your side_!”

 

The dwarf was right next to him before he even had a chance to blink, his dark blue eyes filled with pain and tears. Bilbo had never seen Thorin so emotional, so overwrought, so broken. The only thing he could compare it to was the devastation that had been in him when he had fought over his nephews’ bodies, believing them to be lost to death.

 

“Bilbo, I—I—I have never regretted anything more in my life, than I have my treatment of you those days after we reclaimed Erebor. I fell into the curse of Durin like a gold-thirsty fool, forgetting the reasons I sought to reclaim my homeland, forgetting the loyalty and bravery that you and the rest of the company gave to me in trust, forgetting the love that was worth more than all of the gold and jewels in all of Middle Earth.” His tears ran like small rivers down his sculpted face, and one large, battle worn hand reached up to feel Bilbo’s cheek. “I forgot you, my hobbit. And I will never forgive myself for that.”

 

His hand felt unbelievably warm against Bilbo’s soft cheek, and the hobbit struggled with the emotions inside of him, a horrible wrenching pain twisting his stomach at the sight of this dwarf’s pain. Even when he had been at his most bitterness, deep in the dark lonely trails of Mirkwood, Bilbo had never wished true pain upon Thorin Oakenshield, not like the kind he was clearly inflicting upon himself. He had wanted the stubborn, cruel king that had nearly throttled him that day at the gates, before the harsh battle to decide the fate of everyone present began, to experience the agony that he had felt at his hissing insults, at the vile sneer of “ _Betrayer_ ” from his lips. But this was not that king, not that vicious avaricious facsimile of his dwarf. _This_ was Thorin Oakenshield, the dwarf who had laid him down on the grassy banks of the river in Lake-town, who had touched him as though he were made of fragile, precious material; this was the dwarf who had sworn he would love and honor and protect him until the sun no longer rose in the sky, the wind no longer whispered through the trees, the mountains no longer stood proud and tall on the horizon. _This was his dwarf._

 

“Not a day has passed since then that I have experienced even a moment of happiness without you,” Thorin continued, his voice deeper, rougher with emotion. “I have thought of you every day. Of what I have done to you, of what I threw away carelessly, when I should have treasured you then more than ever before. And I am sorry, Bilbo. _I am sorry_.”

 

Bilbo reached a hand up to hold the one around his cheek, watching the dwarf become nearly senseless with grief. “Oh, Thorin,” He whispered quietly and pulled the broken dwarf king to his shoulder, running a light hand down his back until Thorin finally stopped shaking with sobs nearly a half an hour later, his apologies both Westron and Khuzdul pressed into Bilbo’s skin.

 

He rose from Bilbo’s nearly soaked through shoulder and looked into his hazel eyes, his own red-rimmed and utterly ruined. “Can you ever forgive me for what I have done, Bilbo?” Thorin whispered, not looking as though he held any hope for this but desperately needing to know nonetheless.

 

Bilbo didn’t say anything for a long moment. Of all the scenes he had expected upon this reunion, he had never imagined Thorin to be like this. He had never imagined the dwarf would open himself up so fully and let all sense of pride go to cry on the shoulder of another. That, more than anything, made Bilbo hopeful that maybe…maybe everything would be as it should have been. But…

 

“Thorin,” Bilbo began softly, licking his dry lips, “I—I think I can, but… you disappeared, Thorin Oakenshield. There was nothing left of the dwarf I loved in that mountain, and I…I confess, I am afraid.” He gripped the other’s hand, looking earnestly into his eyes. “You were able to pull free from the curse eventually, but…what’s to say it won’t take hold of you once more?”

 

The dwarf had frozen where he sat on the edge of Bilbo’s bed, but he flinched at that, pain twisting his features again. He looked away, and the hobbit could see shame and self-hatred filling the dwarf. Thorin began to remove his hand from the hobbit’s, but Bilbo held tight, drawing the dwarf’s sorrowful gaze back.

 

“I—I refuse to live in the shadow of the Arkenstone, Thorin. I just…can’t do it and survive this time. Those first few days in Erebor, when the obsession with the stone had taken hold of you…I nearly did not survive that.” A hot weight settled in Bilbo’s chest at the memory, but he soldiered on, determined to be heard by this dwarf. _His dwarf._

 

“More than that, I won’t allow this child to be raised like that, either.”

 

Thorin’s eyes flashed up to Bilbo’s, his mouth opening instantly to deny any such thing, but Bilbo silenced him with a small shake of his head. He was not finished.

 

“I am not saying that there is no chance for us yet, Thorin Oakenshield.” Bilbo said, looking upon the dwarf king with both tenderness and steel. “But you will have to prove to me that I can trust you again, with my heart. With my life…with our child.”

 

Thorin shared his gaze for a moment, jaw clenching tightly, and nodded firmly, his hand renewing the strong clasp upon Bilbo’s. “I swear I will prove myself worthy of your trust again, Bilbo. Or I will die trying.”

 

They stayed like that for quite some time, not speaking of anything, just reacquainting themselves with one another. Bilbo felt better than he had in a very long while. His dwarf was back to the loving, passionate idiot that he had been before, stubborn and proud but clearly repentant for his actions and determined to set things right. He knew it would be a time before he could trust Thorin again, as he had before Erebor, but he could hope now, as he could not before.

 

Thorin, awash in the same hope that Bilbo himself felt for the future, had never been more grateful for anything in his life as he was for his hobbit’s forgiveness. And he swore on his life then, staring into the beautiful face of his One, that he would repair the damage he had done to Bilbo. He would make himself a worthy king for his people, a worthy lover and husband for his hobbit, and a worthy father for his child.

 

In fact, he already had an idea on where to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, they have reunited. :3 Thank you for reading! Any comments are appreciated; unless they’re mean. And then those comments are cast down into the darkest depths of Mordor along with their speakers!!!!!!......... Just so ya know.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf's Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thank you to every one who read and commented on the last chapter! Well, the whole story so far, really. You are very much appreciated! :D This one’s normal sized, because I’m still a little tired from the last one, but it’s an important one and leads up to the next chapter. :P  
> Thank you for reading!

The next couple weeks were some of the happiest of Bilbo’s life.

 

He would awake to the comfort and luxury of his suite in the heart of Rivendell and linger in his large, warm bed, swaddled in blankets and cuddled by pillows, for nearly half an hour. Then he would rise and dress for the day with some reluctance but overall eager to begin the day, as his days now held a new attraction than they ever had before: Thorin.

 

The dwarf king was nearly falling over himself to please Bilbo. Every morning when the hobbit stepped out of his rooms, a bouquet of flowers from the gardens would be at the foot of his door. Bright arrangements of white, yellow, pink, and blue, all wrapped together by a satin ribbon. After placing them in a vase beside his bed, Bilbo would head to the dining hall where Thorin waited to begin breakfast, a cup of tea prepared to perfection waiting for him. They would share a lovely breakfast, talking about a variety of topics, Thorin often inquiring about his life here in Rivendell and other small things that warmed Bilbo’s heart, like his favorite tea and his books and maps.

 

After breakfast, Thorin had taken to trailing along after Bilbo, helping him with whatever menial tasks the hobbit had to do that day, such as organizing some books in the library and baking a few scones in the kitchens. Bilbo wasn’t entire sure how he felt about this; during the first few days, he had found it endearing and rather sweet of the dwarf. Now, though, it was beginning to feel a little like mothering hen behavior, and he was feeling rather smothered. He couldn’t bring himself to discuss this with Thorin, however, as he had promised to give the dwarf the chance to make relations between them right. It would be rather impolite of him to tell Thorin he was hovering and that Bilbo did not appreciate it. But for goodness sakes, lifting a few books onto a shelf was not going to kill him or endanger the child he carried!

 

Still, Bilbo acknowledged that it was nice to have Thorin wait on him hand and foot. He would be lying if he said that he was not feeling a little bit smug at this; Thorin _had_ been quite dreadful to him throughout the journey and after the battle, so…just a little recompense would not be so horrible, right?

 

Thorin certainly seemed to agree as he had no issue with being directed various places by a small pregnant hobbit, even willing to cross to the opposite side of Rivendell for the specific kind of tea that Arwen had begun to give him that had a variety of nutrients beneficial to pregnancies. Bilbo had felt a little guilty at that; Thorin not only had to walk the near twenty minutes it took to navigate Rivendell’s halls but also had to interact with Arwen, who was still rather hostile to the dwarf even in the wake of his apologies.

 

Thorin had told him that, were they in Erebor, he would be fashioning hair adornments of great beauty, the like of which had never been seen before. As it was, Bilbo was content with allowing Thorin to braid his hair every few days, using a few of his own beads to hold the designs in place.

 

Bilbo found that those nights, when Thorin would sit behind him by the fire, his large gentle fingers moving deftly through the long length of his hair, and tell him about his childhood, his sister and father, and Erebor, post past and present. Bilbo would return the favor, telling him of the Shire and his family as he worked, though his braiding skill was not as advanced. Thorin had beamed with pride the first time he had done so and had worn Bilbo’s slightly clumsy braid around for nearly five days before Bilbo finally convinced him to let him re-braid it.

 

The other dwarrows had been overjoyed that Bilbo and Thorin were repairing their relationship. Balin had slapped Thorin on the shoulder, proclaiming that it was about time, and had embraced Bilbo with a merry smile, murmuring a quiet ‘I told you, didn’t I, laddie?’

 

The younger dwarrows, Kili, Fili, and Ori, had shouted with excitement and had run to hug Bilbo exuberantly, and the brothers embraced their uncle for the first time in many months (Fili had admittedly pouted for a good bit upon hearing that the rest of the dwarrows had known about Bilbo’s pregnancy except him). Dwalin, like his brother, had thumped a large, meaty hand upon his king’s shoulders and had looked on with approval, though he did sneer occasionally at the overly emotional displays of affection Thorin would give to Bilbo.

 

The dwarrows had found various things to occupy their days, Balin and Ori going the library, Kili and Fili training with Dwalin in the courtyard, and all occasionally enjoying the spring sunlight while smoking on their pipes. Bilbo did not believe he had ever seen the dwarrows so relaxed. Away from the needs and demands of Erebor, they seemed filled with new life and peace.

 

Bilbo had worried that he was selfishly keeping the dwarrows here; after all, it could not be good for the kingdom for the king to take a long leave of absence, nor the princes and royal advisors. Thorin had assured him of otherwise, however. Dis, his sister, was currently regent, and according to nearly all the dwarrows present, including Thorin himself, she was more than capable of managing Erebor for a couple of months. Frankly, it would be a surprise if the work of the dwarrows on reconstruction did not triple with her stern eye hovering overhead. Thorin had sent a letter the morning after he and Bilbo had talked to his sister to inform her of their prolonged stay, but by the firm set of Thorin’s shoulders and the determined glint in his eyes, Bilbo wondered if there was not something more to the letter than a mere update.

 

While spending time with Thorin in general was extremely pleasurable for Bilbo, their twice-weekly visits to Arwen to monitor Bilbo’s pregnancy were so much more. The wonder in Thorin’s eyes then was a balm to Bilbo’s wounded heart. The dwarf king was ecstatic that he and his One were making a family all of their own, and not a day went by that he did not thank his hobbit for this second chance and for the blessing that was their child. He would sit in the chair on the opposite side of Arwen while she examined Bilbo and watch with wide eyes as she carefully poked and prodded Bilbo’s large bump.

 

The female elf was still very frosty in her dealings with Thorin, but she had toned it down for her friend’s sake, who had sent her large pleading eyes whenever she insulted the dwarf king in some way. She actually answered Thorin’s many questions instead of ignoring him altogether, and after a while she stopped slamming the door in his face before their little check-ups. Thorin took this treatment stoically, unwilling to harm his relationship with Bilbo any further by killing his elf friend, though there was always a brief flash of fury whenever he was slighted by Arwen.

 

Despite the contension there, life in Rivendell was once again at peace.

 

And as is the way of things, something, or rather someone, came along to disturb that peace.

  

* * *

 

Gandalf arrived a month after Thorin came to Rivendell, riding a large brown horse and looking a little harried. Accompanying him was an elf messenger who carried various letters and packages with him and a profound relief on his face that he was back home.

 

A large party was waiting for him at the entrance of the hidden valley, and he was quite surprised at the new residents there, seeing half of the former company standing next to dear Bilbo, one of which being Thorin Oakenshield, whom Gandalf had never seen with such a large smile on his face.

 

The wizard dismounted to the shouted welcomes of Kili and Fili and the much quieter greeting of young Ori, who offered to take a few of his bags, the polite lad. Lord Elrond stepped forward after this and, even after being the host to a large, rowdy group of dwarrows for far longer than he had ever had cause to before, welcomed another guest with equal warmth.

 

“Mithrandir, it warms my heart that you have returned, and with little injury,” The venerable elf lord stepped forward to embrace Gandalf. “I never know if the next time we meet, you will be in perfect health or having just been mangled by some great beast. You make quite an entrance, my friend.”

 

Gandalf chuckled good naturedly, “Yes, well, I do seem to find adventure wherever I head.” He then gave a cursory glance over all of the dwarrows present, lingering on Thorin Oakenshield. “Though I certainly seem to have missed on upon my departure from here months ago.”

 

Bilbo stepped forward then, a bright smile upon his small face. Gandalf felt his heart soften at the flash of dimples and the now much large swell of his stomach. “Welcome back, Gandalf. And yes, you certainly have.”

 

“Ah, my dear Bilbo,” Gandalf put a warm hand on the hobbit’s shoulder. “You have gotten much larger than last we met! How long until the baby is due?”

 

Bilbo sputtered indignantly and laid a hand upon his bump. “Are you insinuating that I am fat, Gandalf? Cause I’ll have you know that I—“

 

“Easy, now, Bilbo! I implied nothing of the sort, my dear hobbit! I meant it as a happy question, not a slight about your weight!” He laughed at this, patting his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder reassuringly. “Forgive me. I had no idea that a hobbit would become so sensitive to the size of his belly!” His eyes were positively twinkling with humor.

 

Bilbo huffed irritatedly, casting an angry look at a few of the dwarrows. “I wasn’t before. Now, though, I have to listen to two dwarf princes make jokes about the oliphant living next door to their rooms or eating at the dining table.”

 

Thorin whipped around at this and smacked his nephews upside the head, murmuring furious sounding words to them in Khuzdul. The brothers winced, rubbing the backs of their heads and scooting away from their uncle.

 

“Just a joke, didn’t mean anything by it,” Kili mumbled grouchily, shooting a slightly apologetic look to the disgruntled hobbit.

 

Ah, well,” Gandalf began with an amused smile. “Dwarflings. Nothing to be done about them. But speaking of dining table, it is almost supper, and I would greatly appreciate if we were to retire to one for the night.”

 

“Of course,” Lord Elrond agreed, gesturing for the group to follow behind him.

 

They did eagerly, ignoring the squawks of the princes at the implication that they were children. As Bilbo walked up the staircase, he noticed that Thorin was no longer beside him. Looking back, he saw Thorin talking with the elf messenger, who handed over a medium sized package and a letter in exchange for a few gold coins. Thorin nodded his head in thanks and turned around, catching Bilbo’s eye. He strode quickly up the steps to where his hobbit waited patiently and smiled, folding the package into a compartment of his fur robe. Bilbo looked on with interest.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Nothing worth notice,” Thorin said quietly, looking firmly at his hobbit with a small smile on his handsome face.

 

Bilbo’s head cocked curiously, one of his long dwarven braids trailing over his shoulder with the movement. He didn’t say anything further, though, and the two headed up the steps, Thorin’s hand a soft presence at the small of Bilbo’s back. They were rather steep stairs, after all.

 

* * *

  

Dinner was a merry affair indeed. Six dwarrows, two elves, one hobbit, and one wizard gathered around a great expanse of food, including large plates of sautéed tomatoes, potatoes, cucumbers, and other vegetables, smoked venison and chicken, and large buttered rolls. Every dwarf but Thorin was nursing an ale with their supper, not making any effort to eat with manners, though Bilbo thanked the heavens that there were no belching or drinking contests to speak of. Lord Elrond, Arwen, and Gandalf had chosen the classier alternative, slender cups of red wine poised delicately by their plates. Elrond and Gandalf seemed amused by the antics of the dwarrows, while Arwen looked on with subtle disgust, though there was a faint glimmer of humor in her grey eyes as well.

 

Bilbo sat contentedly next to Thorin, sipping at his second cup of tea. He had tried to get Thorin to drink an ale like his companions, but the dwarf insisted on water and the occasional cup of tea, all the while sending little smiles at his hobbit. Bilbo felt silly at the fluttering in his stomach at these, a blush flushing on his face every time.

 

“Well, Gandalf,” Bilbo said after a few bites of food. The tomatoes were particularly delightful. “Tell us about your journey.”

 

“Well, as you know, my original plan was to head for Ered Luin. I had wanted to search the elvish library of Forlond, a harbor on the southern coast of Forlindon, for…personal reasons.” At this, he shared a dark look with Lord Elrond. “However, when I passed through the Shire, I was waylaid by… a few other events.”

 

“And how is the Shire?” Bilbo asked quietly. Thorin placed his hand upon the hobbit’s where they were fluttering anxiously in his lap. “What has become of Bag End?”

 

Gandalf took a long drink from his cup, before he continued, fixing Bilbo with a wry look. “When I arrived in the Shire, everything seemed as it always was there, hobbits meandering about with normal day-to-day tasks. A great muttering began as I journeyed through, I assure you. Nothing was out of the ordinary until I reached your home, Bilbo, with a good amount of hobbits trailing behind me.”

 

Bilbo sat forward in his seat, looking searchingly at Gandalf. “What happened?”

 

“Your relatives had made themselves quite at home in your former smial,” Gandalf began with a raised bushy eyebrow. He smirked at Bilbo’s outraged gasp.

 

“I knew it!” The hobbit hit the table angrily with a closed fist, drawing the attention of all seated at the table. “I just knew that conniving, thieving woman would invade my home the second I left the borders of the Shire! Did no one try to stop her? I thought Hamfast Gamgee was going to take care of things.”

 

“That he tried, my dear Bilbo, that he tried. But that Miss Sackville-Baggins has the bite and menace of a wolf, the dreadful woman. Old Gamgee never stood a chance.” Gandalf shook his head in pity. “Well, rest easy, my friend. I informed them of your wish that Bag End be given to your cousin Drogo and his family, and they left most eagerly. “Gandalf winked at Bilbo, a smirk tugging at his lips. “With a little help, of course.”

 

Bilbo relaxed back into his chair, smiling gratefully at the wizard. “Thank you, Gandalf, for doing that for me. I really appreciate it.”

 

“No problem at all. I was happy to do it. Ah! Right,” He pulled a small letter from within his bag and handed it to Bilbo across the table. “Here, from Drogo and Primula.”

 

Bilbo took the proffered envelope with care, looking upon it with a little worry. He glanced up at Gandalf and found reassuring warmth in his eyes. He put the letter under beside his plate for later reading, feeling better about what might be in it. If Gandalf was not concerned with it, the letter was probably not one of rejection or scorn.

 

Thorin was watching him with a little concern but relaxed at Bilbo’s smile.

 

“You gave your home away, Bilbo?” Kili asked suddenly from across the table. The rest of the dwarrows turned back in his direction at this.

 

“Yes, I—I had Gandalf pass along my will that Bag End be given to my cousin and his wife and nephew, since I had planned on living here in Rivendell for a time,” He shifted in his seat uncomfortably under the eyes of so many.

 

“But you’ll be coming back to Erebor with us, right?” Kili pressed, ignoring the elbow Fili planted in his side at the awkward question. They had all known not to bother the hobbit on this subject, especially since Thorin had explicitly ordered them not to as he didn’t want Bilbo to feel pressured in any way. Kili, it seemed, couldn’t contain himself at this.

 

“I—I,” Bilbo stuttered, his face turning red and his hands gripping his teacup tightly. 

 

“Kili!” Thorin reprimanded him sharply, casting a quelling look at his nephew.

 

Silence descended upon the table, everyone refusing to look at Bilbo or Thorin out of awkwardness. Kili pouted into his mug, nursing his side with a glare at his brother. Thorin kept his eyes carefully from his hobbit as well, but his thumb continued to rub soothingly against the back of Bilbo’s hand.

 

Lord Elrond dispelled the tense atmosphere by asking Gandalf to continue. “You said you were delayed by something, did you not? It must have been something quite pressing, as I have never known you to be deterred.”

 

“Yes, well, “ Gandalf coughed. “I was asked by a few Rangers in the area to help in the investigation of a vile creature living in the Brandywine River. A scaly beast with a thirst for blood the like of which I had never seen before. According to the Rangers, it had taken to preying upon the river crossers in the early evenings and at night. Neither iron nor steel could penetrate its shell. Very disturbing.”

 

Most everyone at the table was listening avidly now, the earlier tension forgotten in the deep rasp of Gandalf’s voice.

 

“How did you kill it, Gandalf?” Fili asked eagerly, perilously close to tipping over his ale and spilling it down the front of his brother’s clothes.

 

“Well,” Gandalf continued, with a sparkle in his eye. “The vile thing was particularly good at hiding in the shallows of the river, near the rocks and banks, only venturing out into the deeper waters when it sensed movement upon the surface. Upon further study, I noticed that it seemed to have a preference in victims,” He cast an apologetic look at Bilbo, “Hobbit victims.”

 

Bilbo shivered, feeling a flash of fear and horror for his kin who had been lost to the creature. Thorin squeezed his hand tightly.

 

“How were you able to tell this?” Ori piped up from further down the table, holding his journal and writing in it quickly.

 

“When it would tip over the edges of the boats or rafts, the creature would focus on the smallest prey. I also believed that it learned over time that hobbits were least likely to carry any means of defending themselves.” He sighed wearily at this. “That has changed after this incident.”

 

Gandalf shared a morose look with Bilbo, mourning the loss of innocence amongst the hobbits that had had no cause or fear before to hold weapons for defense. Perhaps in the future, when this died down and faded into the past, they would not feel threatened, but…

 

“After I realized this, the Rangers and I formed a plan. We needed to draw the creature out of the water. The best way to do this…well, the quickest way to do this with minimal casualty, was to deprive the monster of its food source. That’s why this venture took so long to accomplish. The nasty thing lived off of the sparse fishes for a while before it finally left the water, in the middle of the night.”

 

He took a drink from his cup, secretly delighting in the impatient movements made by his audience. He cleared his throat a few times, much to the annoyance of Kili and Fili, before he continued.

 

“We followed it through a farmer’s fields, weapons at the ready, and into a clearing, which was unfortunately inhabited by a couple of young hobbits making merry.” He gave a little snort at this and was echoed by a few of the dwarrows. Bilbo rolled his eyes at this. Hobbit youths, most randy bunch if there ever was one.

 

“It snuck up on the hobbits with incredible stealth. They were completely unaware of the peril they were in. And when the creature reared up, preparing to strike, I whipped my sword back and brought it swiftly down upon its long, slimy tail! It screamed in agony as its limb was severed, proving that the nasty bugger was no match for a blade as fine as Glamdring. However, it was not finished yet.” He punctuated this with a lifted finger, his eyes looking intently at the dwarrows.

 

Said audience was tensed in anticipation, though the more seasoned warriors were not so open in their excitement. Dwalin, Balin, and Thorin listened with carefully neutral faces, all slightly smirking throughout the wizard’s tale. Bilbo and the others listened intently. The elves watched Gandalf’s theatrics with small smiles.

 

“It attacked quick as a shot, its claws sharp as knives and its maw opened to bite our heads clean off! It sliced a nasty mark upon many a Ranger, and I myself was not completely unwounded. At the end of the battle, it stood on its hind legs, a foot taller than I, and faced me with hungry eyes. The head of this foul beast snapped at me, but I caught my sword amongst its teeth, stilling its attack! We were locked like that for a moment when I kicked hard into the scaly underbelly, raised Glamdring up high, and cut its head from its spine with one fell swoop!” He waited for a moment for it all to sink in. “And such was the defeat of the scaled monstrosity.”

 

He sat back smugly, watching with glee as they relaxed into their chairs, the Durin brothers beaming and shouting appreciation for Gandalf’s triumph. The older dwarrows rolled their eyes at their antics but nodded their own appreciation for Gandalf’s story. Bilbo was comforted at the knowledge that his kin were now safe but still felt admittedly queasy. He had never heard of such a creature ever terrorizing the Shire before. There were wolves that prowled their lands during harsh winters, but never anything truly dangerous appeared in the spring or summertime. Hopefully, this was an isolated case….

 

“Very impressive, Gandalf,” Lord Elrond grinned at him. “I’m sure the Shire and the Rangers were very glad you stopped in.”

 

“That they were!” He agreed exuberantly.  “There was a great feast the entire day after! The Thains of the Shire thanked me personally, and I was awarded ‘Savoir of the Shire.’ Very prestigious title, I assure you. I imagine I will be reveled by the hobbits for quite some time after this.” He finished smugly.

 

“Until you cause the next great disturbance, really.” Bilbo grumbled, raising an eyebrow at Gandalf.

 

“I never cause a disturbance,” Gandalf defended himself with amusement. “They happen around me and are therefore associated with me! I only cause half of the trouble that is actually accredited to me.”

 

“Half is plenty,” Bilbo replied sternly, though the corner of his mouth lifted.   

 

A few chuckled at this, and then other conversation began until the fires banked and the food was all but gone. Bilbo nearly fell asleep in his seat, lulled away by good food and close friends.

 

Gandalf’s other reasons for returning could wait another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This chapter was supposed to be about something completely different…..Oh well, that’ll be the next one. :P Hope you enjoyed reading  
> P.S. I did not proof read this one for spelling grammar mistakes...if something is really annoying, let me know and I'll fix it. :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: So, I actually had an incredibly hard time forcing myself to begin and write this chapter. I am going to warn you now, it’s a little boring. Mostly filler. But necessarily so. Also, I have begun another hobbit fanfic, for those of you interested. ☺ It’s called A Most Unusual Specimen and is more fun and light hearted than this one has been. I encourage you to check that out. :D It’s hard to believe that WPB is actually close to ending…. Two or three more chapters left…Well, enjoy.... :)

Chapter 11

 

“Bilbo.”

 

Bilbo turned at the call of his name to see Gandalf sitting in a large armchair in a room off the hallway, wizened face creasing in a small smile. It was not often that Bilbo had seen the old wizard without his hat atop his head and his staff clutched in hand, but Gandalf was able to relax completely here in Elrond’s house. As it was, he sat slumped in the large leather chair, his hand holding a pipe lazily to his lips and a cup of steaming tea on a nearby table.

 

Bilbo entered the room and noticed another familiar figure in the chair across from Gandalf. Lord Elrond sat very elegantly in his deep violet evening robes, looking peacefully into the fire. At the soft pads of Bilbo’s nimble feet, he looked up and smiled.

 

“Ah, my dear hobbit, join us, if you please,” Gandalf entreated, motioning to the grand maroon chaise to his right.

 

“I would be delighted,” Bilbo agreed easily, rather grateful to sit down for a bit of rest. As he was now approximately eight months along, walking the winding and curving paths of Rivendell was significantly more taxing for Bilbo’s body. To his great embarrassment, he now had a sort of waddling gate that he knew to be normal for most pregnancies but found himself rather mortified nonetheless. The others had assured him that he did not look ridiculous; some even contended that it was a rather adorable sight, but Bilbo found that little comfort to his often-flaming cheeks.

 

He reached the chaise with little difficulty, but hefting himself up on the chaise was another task entirely. As it was not designed for shorter residents, the chaise, while not being as high off the ground as some of the furniture in Rivendell, still required a little jump from the hobbit who was now eight months pregnant. As it was, Bilbo allowed Lord Elrond to give him a hand up, though his cheeks were bright red with his embarrassment. Bilbo knew it was not a thing to concern himself with, but the fact that he needed near constant help just to sit on furniture was rather damaging to his pride.

 

“Where is your shadow, dear Bilbo?” Gandalf chuckled, watching the hobbit give a small exasperated sigh at this and sharing an amused look with Lord Elrond as he retook his seat by the fire.

 

Thorin Oakenshield, bless his dwarf heart, had taken to following Bilbo around even more than ever before. He walked him to all of his meals, carried everything the hobbit could possibly need or want in a bag or on his belt, and ensured that Bilbo did not over-exert himself. Of course, to Thorin, Bilbo could not lift a tea tray or carry a few books without ‘over-exerting’ himself. Thorin had even taken to carrying the hobbit up and down stairs, despite Bilbo’s loud and numerous protestations. Really, he was pregnant, not fatally wounded! Though by the end of the day, Bilbo was usually compliant, even thankful, for Thorin’s overprotectiveness, as he was thoroughly drained of energy by then.

 

Still, Thorin’s behavior was driving Bilbo near madness. It had gotten to the point where the hobbit would sneak away when the dwarf king was distracted just so that he could have a few moments to himself. The company often helped him with this. Balin and Dwalin would pull Thorin into deep discussions about Erebor,while Fili and Kili would pester him about training and spending time with them. Ori still couldn’t look Thorin in the face and actually talk to him, but he tried to help in small ways, like spilling his tea on ‘accident’ all over the dwarf king’s robes or pointing him in the wrong direction for Bilbo’s whereabouts. Bilbo did feel a little guilty about this because he knew that Thorin acted out of care, but he needed some space! He was a mature adult hobbit and could look after himself.

 

“Thorin is discussing recent reports from Erebor on trade imports with the city of Dale with Balin back in their quarters,” Bilbo replied, leaning back against the chaise and propping up his feet contentedly.

 

“And does he know that you are no longer there?” Gandalf asked with an amused quirk of one bushy white eyebrow.

 

“Well, it was a very consuming discussion, and I certainly had no opinion on the matter, so I wasn’t precisely needed—“ Bilbo stuttered but stopped at the knowing looks on both the wizard and the elf lord’s faces. “I don’t need a keeper, for goodness’ sakes!” He huffed, turning away from his companions with a small pout on his face.

 

“I never implied you did, Bilbo,” Gandalf appeased, a small smile at the corner of his lips. “However, I should think that there are better ways of finding some alone time than disappearing from under his nose. You nearly gave him quite a fright a couple days ago.”

 

Bilbo grimaced at that. A couple days before, the company had been spending the day in the courtyard, enjoying the fresh air and the spring sun. Kili and Fili were practicing with their swords and occasionally wrestling each other, content to playfully fight amongst one another, much to Ori’s relief. Dwalin, Balin, Thorin, and Bilbo had watched them with amusement, chatting amongst themselves and such, when the young princes had challenged their uncle to a practice match. Thorin had been reluctant, not wanting to leave his pregnant hobbit’s side for even a moment, but Bilbo had encouraged this and sent him with a stern command to have fun with his nephews.

 

Everything had been going along swimmingly, until Thorin had looked back over at the courtyard’s porch and had seen that Bilbo was no longer there. He had stopped playing with his nephews and begun a rather panicked search for Bilbo, who had just left to use the restroom and maybe find a book to read. After an hour of searching, Thorin had found the hobbit swaddled in blankets in a library chair, a book propped open on the large swell of his stomach and fast asleep with his head against the side of the chair.

 

“He’s being ridiculous, “ Bilbo argued, “I’ve tried to ask him for some time alone, but he always finds some way to change the conversation! And besides, I always let one of the other dwarfs know where I’m off to so they can point him in the right direction once he realizes…” He trailed off rather sheepishly, pulling a blanket from the chaise’s back and fixing it over his curved form.

 

Gandalf and Lord Elrond both chuckled again. “So we should expect him to join us, in a little bit.” Lord Elrond drawled humorously, raising a cup to his lips.

 

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Lord Elrond,” Gandalf smiled slyly. “Our hobbit is quite adept at vanishing without a trace.”

 

“Hmph, well,” Bilbo muttered at this, snuggling tighter into the arm of the chair and turning up his nose at the wizard in a superior fashion. “I did sneak past a dragon, did I not?”

 

“Yes, you certainly did,” Gandalf murmured, his smile fading and his face becoming thoughtful.

 

Silence descended upon the room, not exactly companionable, but peaceful nonetheless. Bilbo’s hand brushed lazily over his burgeoning bump, feeling the familiar excitement and anticipation at the thought of his soon-to-be-born child. He and Thorin had not discussed names yet, both believing that it would be better to meet their child first and then decide. Thorin believed that the babe was going to be a boy and though Bilbo might have wanted a little girl, he was inclined to agree. While the baby had been mostly calm for the past couple months, there were times when he seemed to be very excited and liked to kick Bilbo’s bladder unfortunately quite often and with incredible accuracy. They discovered that this happened most often when he or Thorin laughed at something or another, and the thought warmed Bilbo’s heart.

 

“Bilbo, my lad, there is something that I must speak to you about,” Gandalf interrupted his thoughts, causing a little alarm to rise within him at the grim tone in his friend’s voice. He sat up a little and looked at the wizard, whose grey eyes had become very serious indeed.

 

“I don’t believe I ever told you the true reason why I was headed for the elvish libraries of Forlond when I left those long months ago.”

 

At Gandalf’s questioning look, Bilbo shook his head, wondering where this ominous sounding conversation was headed.

 

“There was something I needed to confirm, the identity of an item that awoke an awareness in the back of my mind that I could not ignore. I was not able to make it to the southern coast of Forlindon, but I have discussed this at great length with Lord Elrond, and we have come to an agreement.” At this, Gandalf shared a dark look with the elf lord, who was looking into the fire.

 

“Bilbo…that ring you found, in the darkest caverns of the Blue Mountains…can we see it?”

 

Bilbo was startled at this and looked at Gandalf with surprise. He had not even thought of his ring since he had placed it in a cloth bag at the bottom of a dresser drawer in his apartments when he had first arrived in Rivendell. With all the excitement over the baby, then the arrival of the dwarrows, and then Thorin, the ring had quite escaped his mind, forgotten amongst his thoughts entirely. He wondered rather worriedly why Gandalf seemed so severe and anxious to see it and feared that he had picked up some cursed artifact that would kill him in his sleep one day.

 

“Sure, Gandalf,” Bilbo nodded and slid himself ungracefully off of his chaise and waddled out the door and to his room, which thankfully was not far from the study in which they had resided. He pulled the ring out of the dresser but left it in the bag, some strange instinct warning him against touching it with his bare hands. He returned to the study, now very tired and ready for bed, and held out the bag for Gandalf to take.

 

Much to his surprise, Gandalf grabbed the back and threw it quickly and without hesitation into the fire. Bilbo let out a small gasp but was otherwise ignored as the wizard and elf looked intensely into the fire. Lord Elrond reached for a fire poker and lifted the small gold ring from the flames and held it out to Bilbo once more.

 

“Take it. It will not burn you.” The elf whispered quietly.

 

Bilbo gave him a dubious look, but Elrond had never hurt him before, intentionally or not, so he did as bid, and raised his hand. The ring dropped into his palm, and his two companions leaned over it with frightening severity.

 

For a few moments, nothing happened, and Gandalf and Elrond began to relax. But then, small script began to form on the gold band, deep red symbols flashing like flames in the dim light of the study. Gandalf reared back with a look of horror on his face and collapsed into his armchair, heaving a great sigh. Elrond did not have so violent a reaction. He simply straightened his back and closed his eyes, his jaw tightening fiercely and his handsome face becoming significantly paler.

 

“What? What is it?” Bilbo asked anxiously, looking between the two with wide hazel eyes, his previous exhaustion overcome by fear.

 

“That, dear Bilbo, is the One Ring.”

 

* * *

 

 

After a long and weary conversation on the history of the Ring, Gandalf, Lord Elrond, and Bilbo Baggins discussed what must be done about the cursed thing. According to Lord Elrond, the One Ring could only be destroyed by the fires of Mount Doom, deep in the land of Mordor where it was created by Sauron in the Second Age. And though none of them wished to travel into the Dark Lord’s Land, they all realized that it was infinitely necessary to do so now.

 

Both Gandalf and Lord Elrond believed that the Ring’s presence marked a survival in Sauron’s power and knew that they must destroy it now while the land was still in relative peace. The only thing left to decide was who would be the one to do so.

 

Though the Ring would have been safest if carried by a hobbit, as they were a race most untouched by power, greed, or war, Bilbo was certainly unable to do so, obviously, as he was eight months with child. Gandalf had subtly suggested sending for another of the Shire but had been glared down by both Bilbo and Elrond, who did not once the peaceful race to be involved with Mordor’s evil.

 

They finally decided that, as the Ring was not yet awoken in true power, it would be safe for Gandalf to carry it on and with the help of the Great Eagles, it would be a simple task to fly there and back.  The plan seemed almost too simple, but Gandalf readily agreed that it would be the best one. He would ride with an armed contingent of elves from Rivendell and would fly high in the clouds, masking themselves from any that might inhabit the lands below.

 

Gandalf wrapped the One Ring in many layers of cloth, still wary at the thought of it touching his skin, but the ring’s power was still dormant and had little effect on him at all.

 

As their conversation ended, Thorin had finally arrived, which was not surprising as the dwarf had atrocious navigation skills, even after a month of living in Rivendell. Upon seeing Bilbo’s exhaustion and drooping hazel eyes, Thorin lifted the sleepy hobbit into his arms and glared fiercely at Gandalf and Elrond for keeping his hobbit up when he was clearly tired and in need of rest. He left without saying much, just a terse greeting and a fond huff when he saw Bilbo nearly asleep, but he did look on a little curiously at the morose but determined expressions of the elf and wizard.

 

He knew Bilbo would probably tell him the next about it, so he tucked his hobbit into bed, smiling fondly at the small snores blowing from the small button nose, and returned to his own quarters.

 

Neither Gandalf nor Elrond found much sleep that night, one lost in the memories of the past, the other lost in the anticipation for the future.

 

 

Gandalf decided to leave the very next morning, much to the surprise of the dwarf company. He did not reveal much of what he was doing or where he was going, and neither did the elves who were to accompany him, as the young dwarf princes discovered. Bilbo and Lord Elrond agreed with the urgency but still felt remorseful that they were sending a friend, albeit a powerful wizard, on such a journey.

 

They stood once in the courtyard, as the entrance to Rivendell was perhaps too narrow for five very large eagles, and waited for said birds to arrive. Bilbo stood next to Thorin and pressed close into the dwarf’s side, seeking some comfort from the troubling thoughts of the night before and the realization of the trouble ahead for the wizard.

 

 Thorin did not know exactly what the wizard’s mission was, but Bilbo had told him that he would be flying into Mordor, to Mount Doom. He wondered at this. As a dwarf and keen on the ways of the fires and forge, Thorin guessed that Gandalf was flying to destroy something, as crafting something would not make much sense for the wizard. He guessed it must be something powerful and dangerous to require such extremes, but he did not press Bilbo for information, noting the hobbit’s already strained nerves and worries.

 

Gandalf turned from where he stood next to Lord Elrond and walked over to place a comforting hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, smiling at the hobbit’s worry for him.

 

“I will be fine, my dear hobbit,” He assured him with a pat on his shoulder. “This will not be my first venture into Mordor, and I dare say it will not be my last. With the help of the eagles, however, this will be a very quick and relatively safe trip, I believe.”

 

Bilbo sighed at this and tried for a smile. “I know that, but you know how I am. I worry; it’s in my nature. Especially considering where you are headed…”

 

“Yes, indeed,” Gandalf straightened. “But we will be safe so high up. I doubt even the Lady Arwen could pick us out of the clouds.”

 

“Let us hope that to be true, Mithrandir” Arwen agreed from her place next to her father, smiling sweetly at the wizard. She had given him a couple bottles of healing solution and wrappings for wounds in the even that they are met with resistance. None of them believed they would encounter many enemies, if any at all, but all wanted to err on the side of caution rather than risk injury.

 

The great cry of an eagle could be heard then, screeching through the air like an alarm. Five giant birds, nearly the length of three men and at least two tall, could be seen flying over the Hidden Valley, circling in their descent.

 

“We should be pack in two days time,” Gandalf proclaimed loudly enough for the company to hear over the flapping of enormous wings. “Look for our return as the sun sets that day.”

 

“May your journey be successful, Mithrandir,” Lord Elrond spoke loudly standing strong against the gusts of wind created by the eagles’ landing. “It sometimes feels as though our entire relationship has been comprised of me greeting and you parting.” He remarked with an amused smile.

 

“May I live to be greeted by you again, then,’ Gandalf laughed, shifting his sword and staff more securely on his person.

 

Thorin moved to stand behind Bilbo, wrapping his arms around the hobbit’s shoulders and preventing him from being blown over by the wind. The rest watched with some amusement as Kili and Fili both lost their footing and tumbled back along the grass, shouting and laughing loudly. Dwalin had planted his large hands on both his brother’s and Ori’s shoulders to prevent this from happening to them, smirking at the princes’ antics.

 

Gandalf mounted one large eagle after whispering a quiet thanks in its ear. The elves accompanying him did the same, though they doubled up on the eagles’ backs, two archers to a bird. The others on the ground moved to hand them their packs and say farewells. Bilbo watched on with a sad smile but started when Thorin moved out from behind him.

 

“Thorin?” He questioned, moving to follow but stopped as a gentle hand was placed on his shoulder. He looked back to see Balin there, nodding approvingly.

 

“Gandalf.” He heard Thorin say quietly, and looked over to see the wizard leaning down to listen to the dwarf king. They talked for just a moment before Thorin withdrew something from his vestments. Bilbo recognized it as the same package that arrived with Gandalf a week or so ago. Thorin handed the package to Gandalf who seemed immensely surprised and pleased, giving the dwarf a secretive but approving smile.

 

Thorin nodded his thanks before moving back to Bilbo and standing behind him once more. Balin had removed his hand and stepped to Bilbo’s left, watching as the eagles ascended once more, eager to get on with their journey. Gandalf gave a loud shout of excitement, bringing a reluctant laugh to those down below, and they watched the eagles soar off into the distance, headed for unfriendly lands and treacherous mountains.

 

Bilbo’s hands reached up to grip Thorin’s arms where they had crossed over his shoulders and chest in support and wished fervently for the safe return of Gandalf and the elves and the destruction of the evil they carried with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: So, two or three chapters from the end of this story… perhaps that’s why I found is so difficult to write this…. Some of you may scoff at how I’ve dealt with the Ring scenario, and that’s fine. To be perfectly honest, the angst with the ring is not my concern or even my interest in this fic. It’s all about Thilbo. There was a completely different event I wanted accomplished with Gandalf’s journey, as I am sure you’ve gathered, and that’s where my attention lies. Well, I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter, even though it was a little boring. :P


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I’m so sorry for the late update, everyone. April has proven to be the month of hell. College has been busting my ass. -.- essays, tests, group projects, signing up for room assignments, signing up for classes, and FINALS on the way. T.T yay me.  
> Anyway, this chapter is pretty much fluff and adorableness. Unfortunately, I can only handle so much right now, and academics have to come first. Which means I can’t start the other fanfic that I wanted to begin writing! ☹ ☹ ☹ Ugh!!! …… Also, for those reading A Most Unusual Specimen, I’m working on it! I will try to have another chapter up by Sunday! Please have patience with me. :/  
> Thank you for reading!!!

Chapter 12

 

After Gandalf and the other eagles were but specks on the horizon, Bilbo waddled through the pathways of Rivendell, worrying about the crazy old wizard that had shown up on his doorstep so long ago and had changed his life forever. The hobbit tried to keep his mind off of the peril Gandalf would be flying through, reassuring himself that the wizard had proven multiple times throughout the journey that he was somehow impervious and completely immune to any and all danger or harm. He was even able to make into the heart of Goblin Town without a single goblin noticing, for goodness’ sakes!

 

But he was a hobbit, a sentimental one at that, and Bilbo could not seem to help himself. So, for lack of a better thing to do, he went to the kitchens.

 

Hobbits, in general, were very good cooks. They loved to eat all kinds of food: meat, vegetables, cakes, casseroles, and all sorts of breads. Bilbo was particularly fond of cakes and breads, and he had been told that his blueberry cakes were the best in all the Shire. Bilbo believed they were so popular due to the delicate and perfect balance of sugar, cinnamon, and fruit flavor that he created, but, well, he was the inventor, so his opinion was not exactly objective. But they had won first prize in the annual Hobbiton Bake-off and in the Shire Harvest Festival. He was incredibly proud of them, more so than his prizewinning tomatoes.

 

And he had a strong urge to cook some blueberry cakes right that moment! So he did.

 

There was something incredibly therapeutic about mindlessly stirring the sugary, sweet smelling batter and staring off into space. He remembered times right after his mother’s death when he was forty-four that he would do this exact same thing, stirring a bowl of batter, over and over…not needing to think about the future or the past…not thinking about anything, really…

 

“Bilbo!”

 

Bilbo was startled out of his blissful empty thoughts by the arrival of Kili and Fili, who took one look down at the bowl in his hands and licked their lips with a hungry look in their eyes. He realized with a little embarrassment that Thorin had been leaning against the wall beside the fire oven and watching with a small smile, his deep blue eyes rather gentle.

 

Bilbo’s face flushed a little red, giving Thorin a smile in return, before he noticed that Kili and Fili were attempting to subtly dip their fingers in the batter bowl.

 

“Hey! No, no, not yet, you miscreants!” He whapped their wandering fingers with his wooden spoon, grinning a little vindictively at their yelps of pain.

 

“Miscreants?!” Kili gave Bilbo a fake look of outrage as he nursed his red fingers. “We are princes of Erebor, hobbit!”

 

“No, you’re the prince idiots of Erebor and fully capable of the mischief required to be called 'miscreants,'” Thorin grunted, giving his nephews a scolding look, though there was amusement in them as well.

 

“Not to mention the fact that neither of you ever wash you hands,” Bilbo huffed, waving his spoon at them disapprovingly. “These will be ready soon enough, so you two can just wait till then. I’ll not have those sticky paws all over my batter.”

 

“Aw, Uncle Bilbo!” Fili whined, falling against his brother dramatically, giving the pregnant hobbit a wide blue-eyed stare and a pout.

 

“Uncle?” Bilbo looked at them surprised.

 

“Well, yeah,” Kili shifted uncomfortably, throwing a quick look at Thorin before smiling shyly at Bilbo. “I mean, you’re having our little cousin… and well…” He looked back at his uncle, who was carefully looking into the fire simmering under the stove, before shrugging his shoulders helplessly.

 

“Uncle…” Bilbo murmured quietly, before smiling at Fili and Kili brightly. “That’s nice….” The dwarf princes looked instantly more cheerful.  “I mean, I’ll be a Dad soon too, so…'Uncle' is fine.”

 

Thorin was looking at him with bright eyes, not quite smiling but somehow seeming incredibly pleased. Bilbo couldn’t help but admire him, where he stood by the fire. The dwarf king wore a simple deep blue tunic and trousers, his dark raven hair streaked with grey pulled into a low tail at the base of his neck. The only kingly adornments he wore were the silver clasps on the two long braids that hung down from the sides of his face. Dressed like this, crownless, without his armor or furred robe, Thorin Oakenshield looked unbelievably handsome. Especially with the happiness brimming in his eyes.

 

“No, I don’t think you’re going to be a ‘Dad,’” Kili said with a thoughtful look on his face. The others in the room turned to look at him with incredulity.

 

“Um, Kili,” Bilbo gestured down to his large stomach, which was so swollen now that he had to have tunics specially tailored to cover him adequately. “I’m pretty sure that I am about to have a child, which would make me a father.”

 

“No, no,” Kili shook his head, affecting a serious look on his face, but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You’re definitely not going to be a ‘Father’ either.”

 

Fili reached up a hand to feel his brother’s forehead for a fever. Kili smacked his hand away with a look.

 

“Maybe a ‘Papa’ or a ‘Daddy.’ That’s fits you better,” He said with a grin. The others finally caught on at this, Bilbo and Thorin rolling their eyes. Fili grinned with his brother and nodded at that.

 

“Yeah, yeah, Bilbo’s definitely a ‘Daddy.’ Uncle Thorin would be…Papa?” He looked questioningly at his brother, who turned to look speculatively at Thorin.

 

He nodded his approval. “Yeah, that’ll work. ‘Daddy Bilbo’ and ‘Papa Thorin.’ Perfect.” Kili suddenly broke out in a sappy smile. “That’s going to be so cute. Tiny little dwobbit boy, calling out ‘Papa!’ ‘Daddy’, running around the halls of Erebor…”

 

“The baby’s not going to be a ‘dwobbit,’ which is a ridiculous name, by the way,” Bilbo was now spooning out little portions of the batter on an iron cooking plate, his face bright red. Thinking about their little child…being called ‘Daddy’… it all made this giant bubble of happiness and anxiety fill in his chest. He couldn’t wait to finally meet their little baby boy…wait, boy?

 

“And what makes you think the baby’s going to be a boy?” Bilbo gave them an amused look. “Could be a girl, you know…”

 

The Durin men looked at him blankly for a moment, before chuckling condescendingly at the hobbit.

 

“It’s going to be a boy, Uncle Bilbo,” Fili patted Bilbo on the head patronizingly, though he quickly dodged out of the way of the fierce wooden spoon. “And why not a dwobbit? You’re a hobbit; Uncle’s a dwarf. Hobbit plus dwarf equals dwobbit.”

 

“Because when a hobbit has a child, he or she takes after the father or…well, the provider of... materials…” He finished rather lamely. Lately, it seemed like all he could do was fumble over his words and blush. And stuff his face with cakes and biscuits. And drink ten cups of tea. And cry.

 

“And you didn’t answer my question. Why is our baby going to be a boy?”

 

“It’s like this, Uncle Bilbo,” Kili began to explain, and Bilbo realized he had swiped the spoon and was licking the batter off. “Us Durin’s, we’re real dwarrows. Like, the manliest of dwarrows.”

 

“Yes, of course you are,” Bilbo muttered sarcastically, curling his lip.

 

“Thank you," Kili nodded approvingly at him, wincing when Thorin reached forward and smacked him on the back of the head. “And the manliest of dwarrows just never have daughters.”

 

“Okay,” Bilbo drew out the last syllable and looked at the brothers with a smidgen of victory in his hazel eyes. “Then…how exactly was your mother born?”

 

Kili and Fili opened their mouths as if to reply before realizing their argument might be a little faulty. Bilbo shared a look with Thorin, who straightened from his slouch against the wall and walked over to sit on a stool at the counter to be closer to his hobbit.

 

Thorin did consider himself a very manly dwarf. And any dwarf worth his dwarfhood would never use such a feminine word as ‘adorable,’ but watching his pregnant hobbit bake and joke with his nephews, he knew there was really only one word for it. And that word was, in fact, 'adorable.' He had flour in his curly golden hair, which was tide back to fall to the middle of his back in a beautiful tumble. He wore a white apron where it curved over the sweet swell of his stomach that was covered in specks of batter. A tiny smudge of blueberry was on the curve of his cheek, right under one bright hazel eye. _Hmmmmm_ …Thorin eyed that spot of blueberry with hunger. He wanted to lean over, nuzzle his hobbit’s soft neck, trail up that creamy skin with kisses, until he reached that one spot. Then he would suck that delicious batter into his mouth and—

 

“Thorin?”

 

“Hmm?” Thorin jerked back into reality, noticing a floating pastry in front of his nose that smelled heavenly.

 

“You’ve been staring,” Bilbo muttered with a blush on his cheeks, carefully not mentioning that Thorin had been staring at him. He held out the blueberry-sugar-cinnamon cake, all of which had apparently finished baking during the time that he had been mooning over his hobbit. “Here…”

 

“Thank you, Bilbo,” Thorin murmured, taking the hot cake into one hand and biting into it, looking directly at Bilbo as he did so.

 

Bilbo watched this avidly, caught in the dark and rather hungry looking stare that Thorin was giving him. The stoic dwarf bit into the sweet treat, giving a low moan as he did so. Bilbo felt his whole body flush at hearing it, a heat settling in his cheeks and further south than was appropriate.

 

The two echoing moans of Thorin’s nephews somewhat ruined the sexiness of their uncle.

 

“Mmmmmm! Bilbo, these are delicious! Like-like tiny pastries made of the heavens!” Kili said excitedly, attempting to stuff two more into his mouth.

 

“I could live off these cakes…forever.” Fili groaned, savoring the rich blueberry flavor. “I’m pretty sure I would die for them too.”

 

“They are very good, Bilbo,” Thorin agreed quietly, still looking a little hot and bothered. He smiled warmly at the flushing hobbit, who had moved to the stove to make some tea.

 

“Thank you all.” Bilbo positively beamed with pride. “My recipe is a Shire favorite! Very popular amongst the hobbits, especially for afternoon teatime. Of course, it’s a secret recipe, so I often had many visitors come over in the afternoon when they noticed cooking smoke coming from my smial, wanting to have my cakes.”

 

“I can see why. These are fantastic!” Kili choked out between consuming cakes. He had eaten at least six by then, Bilbo noticed.

 

“Now, now, Kili, I made them for everyone, not just you three.” He held up his wooden spoon in threat when Kili reached for another. “I might make some more later, but you’ve had quite enough for now.”

 

“Why did you make these, Bilbo?” Fili asked curiously, eying another cake longingly.

 

“Well, sometimes when I worry about things, I tend to bake or clean. A habit I picked up from my mother, I suspect. All hobbits like to cook, though.” Bilbo brushed some crumbs off the swell of his belly as he said this and moved toward the teapot that whistled above the fire. “Would any of you like some tea? The elves have a very soothing brew, good for stomach upsets and such.”

 

“Is your stomach upset?” Thorin asked worriedly, striding forward and taking the pot from Bilbo gently and pouring the water into the small cup on the counter top. He then helped Bilbo into a chair, brushing a large warm hand along the hobbit’s swollen stomach.

 

Bilbo smiled gently at this, warmed at his concern, if a little exasperated at the over-protectiveness. “No, no, I’m perfectly fine. It’s just become a favorite of mine, is all.” He placed his hand over Thorin’s. “You need not worry so much. I’m not made of glass.” His lopsided smile melted the dwarf’s heart.

 

“Nor are you made of mithril, dear hobbit,” He answered softly.

 

Bilbo held in a sigh and gripped his teacup loosely in his palms, savoring the warmth. He looked over at the shelves of herbs and spices, seeing a pot of honey perched rather high up on a shelf. He looked at the honey with longing; even if Thorin would let him get up and move around again, Bilbo still wouldn’t be able to reach the pot.

 

Thorin noticed his gaze and walked over to pull the honey from the shelf, placing it in front of Bilbo without a word. Bilbo accepted this silently as well, spooning out the honey from the pot and pouring it liberally into his tea contentedly. Kili and Fili watched on in amusement.

 

A moment later, Arwen strode elegantly into the room, clothed in light silvery-blue garments and her hair flowing freely down her back. She looked as beautiful as she ever was, completely at peace and even smiling mildly at the dwarrows gathered around the counter.

 

Despite her unthreatening appearance, both Kili and Fili moved until the counter was between them and the elf, watching her warily. Thorin stayed where he was, sitting on the chair next to Bilbo, but there was a notable tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. Bilbo had tried to convince the dwarrows that she was simply playing with them, which might have made things worse as they saw most attempts at conversation on her part to be some form of mockery. That’s not to say that she didn’t mock them, but well….

 

“Ah, those cakes smell delicious. I could smell them from the healing rooms,” She reached forward and lifted one from the tray, sighing in pleasure after the first bite. “Very good, Bilbo. I will have to convince you to grant me the recipe.” She smiled slyly at the hobbit, before taking a closer look at his tea. “Chamomile? Are you feeling unwell?”

 

“Goodness, you people! Can’t drink a cup of tea without having one of you fussing over me!” Bilbo sipped from his tea with a grumpy expression on his face. “No, I simply wanted this flavor…and maybe I’m a little worried.”

 

“Mithrandir?” Arwen reached for the teapot still filled with warm water and poured herself a cup.

 

He nodded minutely, his lips twisting in a half-smile.

 

“He will be fine, Bilbo. It is true that they fly over a dangerous land, but they fly swift and true. The evil of Mordor has long since been subdued; Sauron’s power diminished severely during the War of the Elves and Sauron. This is not to say that they will have an easy flight, but…they will make it back to us. You will see.” She placed a comforting hand on own of Bilbo’s. “In the meantime, we will hope for their safe return. And eat these cakes, of course.”

 

Surprising enough, Arwen had managed to put a very large dent in the remaining blueberry cakes, eating almost as much as Kili had. There were still plenty left, but it was still shocking to see an elf as slender and graceful as Arwen eat five cakes.

 

“Hey, why does she get to eat so many?” The dwarf prince piped up, looking indignantly at Bilbo. Kili flinched back a little when Arwen’s attention turned sharply towards him, preparing to hide behind Fili if needed. Fili glared at him for this, before turning his own attention back to the female elf. She seemed harmless on the surface, but she had wicked aim, a sharp sword upon her hip, and an even sharper tongue.

 

“Now, Kili,” Bilbo gave him a chiding look. “She has not had any more than you. And on that note, you both have had quite enough,” He added, looking amused with the both of them.

 

“Still…”Kili grumbled, moving out cautiously from behind his brother and plopping down onto a chair.

 

“Perhaps we should take a few cakes to Mister Balin and Mister Dwalin before Erebor’s princes polish them off?” Arwen interposed smoothly, pulling a silver serving plate from an overhead cupboard.

 

“That’s a great idea,” Bilbo shuffled from his chair, smiling patiently when Thorin’s hands touched lightly on his arm and back in support. “I would suggest they carry the plate, but, well…that might defeat the purpose.”

 

The brothers shrugged sheepishly at this, grinning as their uncle snickered.

 

“I shall carry it,” Arwen said, already moving little cakes onto the plate. “Should we take some of the tea with us? I know Mister Dwalin will not partake, but Mister Balin might.”

 

“Seems like a great idea,” Bilbo smiled, moving the teapot from the table and onto the tray. “Thorin, would you reach into the cabinet and pull out two teacups?”

 

The dwarf did so, pulling two delicate finely crafted cups from the cabinet. It was one of Bilbo’s favorite sets, because there were little vegetables, such as pumpkins, tomatoes, and cucumbers, connected by thin green vines along the outside, and the rim of the cup was edged in gold. They reminded him of his garden back in the Shire. He still gardened in Rivendell; well, he did before he grew to be the size of a baby oliphant. But the plants were always flowers and herbs. He had rarely ever taken care of vegetables.

 

Bilbo sighed winsomely as Thorin deposited the cups on the tray and moved back to wrap his muscular arm around the hobbit’s waist. Bilbo leaned into his warmth, feeling drowsy. He became tired a lot more easily these days, but, as they found out upon walking from the kitchens, the sun had already begun its descent past the horizon, so it made sense that the hobbit was a little tuckered out. Not to mention his ankles were very displeased at all the walking he had done that day. He leaned more heavily on Thorin, almost wishing he could swallow his pride and ask to be carried, but no. He was a proper adult hobbit and therefore could not be carried about like a child…even if his feet were killing him.

 

Bilbo barely noticed as the buildings and archways passed the little group by. He leaned against Thorin with an arm around the dwarf’s waist, his eyes nearly closed sleepily, listening to the inane quibbling of the dwarf princes and Arwen. Thorin’s heartbeat was a steady sound in his ear, and if not for the fact that they were moving and his feet were throbbing painfully, Bilbo was quite sure he could have gone to sleep.

 

He was roused to a more alert state of being when Thorin guided him gently into a chair at the dinner table. Bilbo sat up straighter, giving the dwarf a thankful smile, and looked around the table. Elrond and Arwen were talking quietly amongst themselves to Bilbo’s right. Across from him sat Balin and Dwalin, who had already begun to apportion themselves food from the many plates and bowls. Thorin sat next to Bilbo, having separated his nephews on either sides of the table. Faced with the option of having to sit next to one of the dwarf princes, Ori wisely chose to sit next to Fili, the less likely to play pranks on him.

 

Bilbo sat idly as Thorin piled food onto his plate for him, as had become the usual for a couple of weeks now. He had fought this at first but had decided it was smarter to pick his battles. And anyway, he always smeared food on his tunic when he tried to reach for plates on the other side of the table.

 

Throughout the dinner, Bilbo did not contribute much to the conversation, choosing instead to eat the food on his plate and lean against the back of the chair with his eyes closed. He must’ve fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing he knew, he was being carried back to his rooms in Thorin’s arms. 

 

Bilbo contemplated having Thorin put him down, but he was so comfy and warm and…every breath he took he could smell Thorin. Wood smoke, a faint metallic bite of iron, and something that was uniquely Thorin.

 

The dwarf in question tilted his head down to look at him, giving Bilbo that half-smile that made the hobbit’s sappy heart just melt. “Almost there,” he murmured softly.

 

Bilbo allowed himself a brief nuzzle into the broad, warm chest, sighing contentedly, and then they were at the door of his rooms. He had Thorin let him down, wincing slightly at the sudden pain in his ankles, and pushed the door open. He walked into the room, motioning with a smile that Thorin follow, and crossed to the fireplace that was simmering weakly in the darkness.

 

Thorin quickly passed him and threw a couple logs in himself, and the dwarf turned around to see Bilbo hefting himself up onto the couch behind him. He watched, fidgeting awkwardly, until Bilbo patted the spot next to him on the couch, a sleepy smile on his hobbit’s face.

 

Thorin jumped at the chance to settle down next to his hobbit. Since that night that Thorin had begged for his hobbit’s forgiveness, their relationship had become stronger and stronger. It was not the same as before the great battle and would probably never be the same again, but Thorin believed that that was a good thing. Before, their relationship had been fast, passionate, and overshadowed by the quest and later, the Arkenstone. Now…

 

Now they were moving slower and taking their time, learning more and more about each other every day. And Thorin had never been so content or happy in all his life. Just walking through the gardens with his hobbit, drinking tea and eating breakfast together in the morning, holding his One and his unborn child in his arms…this was everything.

 

And as he settled on the couch, drawing Bilbo under his arm and against his chest, a blanket draped over them both, Thorin Oakenshield, former estranged prince, poverty stricken blacksmith, company leader and fighter, and now King of Erebor, was finally at peace.

 

A little while later…

 

Bilbo shifted drowsily on Thorin’s warm chest, looking up at the dwarf with heavy-lidded hazel eyes. “Gandalf will be alright…won’t he, Thorin?” He asked quietly, though there was still a vein of worry on his voice.

 

Thorin stroked a hand down the hobbit’s back in comfort, careful not to cross any lines as he did so. Their physical relationship remained platonic, and Thorin was perfectly fine with waiting until Bilbo was ready, but the temptation was still there and hot as ever.

 

“I have never met a man with so stubborn an ability to survive as Gandalf,” He replied, some amusement apparent in his low murmur. “He will return to cause all sorts of problems anew, Bilbo. I know it.”

 

Bilbo sighed tiredly, nosing his way back against the dwarf’s chest and facing away from the fire, before he stiffened minutely. Thorin looked down at him questioningly, his own deep blue eyes becoming hazy with sleep.

 

“I just remembered I wanted to ask you something,” Bilbo yawned widely, before lying his head back down. “This morning, before Gandalf and the eagles took off…what did you give to him? That package…”

 

Thorin did not reply for a minute, looking into the fire quietly. Bilbo felt his eyes drooping closed, the warm comfy fog of sleep descending over him. He fought against it weakly, wanting to hear the dwarf’s answer, but it was much too late, and he was a very tired pregnant hobbit. He did hear Thorin say one last thing, the deep voice lulling him to sleep.

 

“Sleep, Bilbo. Tomorrow will come soon enough…Sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Next chapter: Gandalf returns, and a certain someone finally joins the world! ;)
> 
> P.S. You guys are really great at guessing....Or maybe I'm just too obvious.....Yeah, that's probably it. -.-


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Finally! After months of working, agonizing over how I need to complete this chapter, spending time with my family once work was over, and then finally settling down to it, the chapter is finished!!! :D Sorry for the long wait, everybody. It seems I am much more organized and motivated when I operate under a schedule. -.- At any rate, I hope you enjoy this chapter! There will be an epilogue as well. ☺

 

When Bilbo woke up the next day, the sun had not yet risen high enough in the sky to shed light on Rivendell. Snuggled contentedly in his blankets and pillows, he stared out into the early morning sky visible through a nearby window while his thoughts began to stir. He did not remember preparing for bed the night before, and yet here he was, cuddled into bed and wearing his favorite pajamas, two large pillows on either side of him to help cushion his now very large belly. He remembered making his blueberry cakes, spending time with Thorin, Fili, Kili, and Arwen. He very vaguely remembered dinner. And then Thorin had carried him to his room, held him on the couch by the fire….

 

Bilbo was so happy and, quite frankly, relieved at the relationship that he and Thorin had managed to nurture these past few months. Those first few weeks, he had watched every interaction between them warily, waiting for the moment when Thorin decided a lowly hobbit of the Shire was not good enough for a dwarf king and return home to his kingdom to marry some hairy and mulish dwarrow princess from the Iron Hills instead. But this much dreaded moment had never come.

 

On the contrary, Thorin had made every effort to show how much he cared for and respected this curly haired hobbit. He had deferred control over his reviving kingdom to his sister so that he could stay in Rivendell and take care of Bilbo. He had shown the utmost respect to the elves, even making an effort to form a relationship with Elrond beyond that of rulers and adversaries. Every opportunity that Bilbo had given to spend time with him, Thorin had taken eagerly. But he was always conscious of Bilbo’s feelings, never pushing him. And it was that patience and understanding that had shown, more than anything else, that Thorin had changed.

 

During the quest to reclaim Erebor, Thorin had never had patience nor understanding for the struggles of a plump hobbit accustomed to a life of comfort and plenty desperately trying to find his footing in a world full of war, violence, and hardships. An exiled prince and warrior, Thorin had not had the luxury of time nor compassion for strangers. He had kept his family tight and close, but to the rest of the world he had been cold, hard, and focused. Later on, when they had come together in Lake Town, their relationship had been hot-tempered and passionate, full of a sense of urgency. Even on that fateful night all those months ago, their tryst had been hot and quick, ever mindful of the early rise of the sun and the immediacy of their journey’s end.

 

The dwarf he saw now, the one that waited for Bilbo to wake up so that he could bring him breakfast, the one that held doors open for him and placed a warm hand on his lower back to help steady him. The one that was stern and yet playful when he interacted with his nephews, his eyes always brimming with affection and happiness. The one that treated Bilbo with reverence and care and watched him with humble and loving eyes. This dwarf made him feel secure and confident. This dwarf made him feel loved.

 

He was not Thorin Oakenshield, the warrior prince fighting to reclaim his birthright. He was not King Thorin, rich and powerful beyond measure, the ruler elevating his kingdom from the ashes. He was just…

 

He was just Thorin, the dwarf at the heart of his being. And it was this Thorin that Bilbo loved so much that he couldn’t breathe at the thought of it. This Thorin he felt he could live a long and blissful life with.  This Thorin he could have a true family with. There was only one thing holding Bilbo back from truly committing himself to Thorin.

 

The Arkenstone.

 

Bilbo wanted more than anything to believe in the dwarf he had come to love again these past few months. Wanted to believe that Thorin was stronger than the Arkenstone, that he loved Bilbo and his child more than any precious gem or artifact in all of Middle Earth. But he had been completely blindsided before. He had never expected the greed, and the madness, and the cruelty. And even months later, even in light of the honest change in his dwarf, fear still lived in his heart.

 

The baby was nearly here. Bilbo knew he had less than a few days before the birth, if that. He wanted to accept everything Thorin was offering him, everything he knew their future together could be. He wanted his child to have his father. But he feared, with paralyzing intensity, what the future would hold for them if his worst nightmares became a reality.

 

A twinge suddenly flared up in Bilbo’s body, the brief pain reminding him of other matters to attend to. First things first, it was time to put aside these thoughts and get some breakfast.

 

He threw back the covers and shivered a little, his left hand stroking over his baby bump comfortingly. The sky outside had lightened considerably, meaning that he had been brooding for well over an hour. He paused, wondering at that. Thorin usually knocks on his door at daybreak to check if he was awake and wanted breakfast. _Maybe he slept in_ , he thought with only a smidgen of disappointment at not getting to see his dwarf first thing in the morning.

 

He sighed before hoisting himself off the bed and moseying over to his dresser. He dug around the contents, feeling oddly picky about his clothes, before he settled on a soft leafy green tunic and white trousers. His long curly hair fell in a tangled mass on his back, but he did not have the patience to wrangle with it. Maybe he could convince Arwen to brush it for him. Or maybe Thorin….

 

Bilbo left his room a moment later and was crossing through the sitting room on his way to the entrance of his quarters when he heard a soft snore coming from behind. When he turned around to find the source of the sound, his heart gave a happy lurch in his chest. Thorin was sprawled over the couch they had sat on the night before, one arm hanging of the seat, his fingers touching the floor. A soft brown blanket was scrunched up around his hips, leaving his wide muscular chest, handsome chiseled face, and long silver-streaked black hair open to Bilbo’s ogling. And ogle, he did.

 

Bilbo walked as quietly as he could over to the couch, his eyes never leaving the sleeping dwarf. He looked so peaceful, so relaxed. The harsh worry lines over his brow and around his mouth had slackened, his eyelashes lay in a dark crescent on his cheeks, and a small smile lingered around the corners of his lips. His chest rose and fell, his breaths deep and snores soft.

 

An achingly tender feeling bloomed in Bilbo’s chest, and he lifted a hand to Thorin’s face, brushing his hair back gently. Thorin turned his face into the palm of the hobbit’s hand, a sigh leaving his lungs with a small huff. Deep blue eyes began to open and blink sleepily at the hobbit standing over him, a tender dimpled smile on his freckled face.

 

“Bilbo?” Thorin began to sit up on the sofa, a hand coming up to brush through his hair. His voice was rough and deep from sleep, causing an involuntary shiver down Bilbo’s back.

 

“Good morning!” Bilbo replied cheerfully. “I dare say, this is the first time I’ve ever been up and about before you and the boys. Admittedly, the sun’s only just begun to shine…”

 

Thorin only blinked up at him with a small smile, still looking a little drowsy. Bilbo watched him amusedly for a few moments before turning in the direction of the door.

 

“Shall we head to the kitchens, then? I’m quite hungry.” Bilbo said a little impatiently Not to mention his ankles were beginning to ache already.

 

“You didn’t eat very much at dinner last night,” Thorin replied, throwing the blanket off his legs and standing up. He stretched his arms and back, his tanned muscles bunching and coiling under his tunic. Bilbo watched with a small blush on his face, steadfastly ignoring the slightly smug look in Thorin’s eyes as he did so.

 

“I believe someone was supposed to be on permanent bed rest until the baby comes,” Thorin drawled, looking pointedly at Bilbo’s impossibly large stomach.

 

“That’s absolutely ridiculous!” Bilbo stated, sticking his nose up in the air. “As if I’m not perfectly capable of walking to the kitchens.”

 

“Your ankles are swelling.” Thorin pointed out, one eyebrow raised imperiously.

 

“As they have been for months now.” Bilbo countered, waving his hand dismissively.

 

“You’ve been standing for barely ten minutes, and you’re already leaning against an armchair.”

 

Bilbo straightened up instantly. “You’ve just woken up. You have no idea how long I’ve been standing.”

 

“I bet Arwen’s in the kitchens by now.” Thorin held in a smirk when the hobbit grimaced.

 

Bilbo wavered. He knew that he could successfully argue with Thorin and get his way. Arwen, however, would refuse to even listen to him. She’d send him right back to bed and would follow him to make sure he got there. Then he probably wouldn’t be let out of bed the rest of the day.

 

“Oh, fine.” Bilbo huffed, shuffling over to the couch Thorin had just vacated, settling gingerly on the cushions, and pulling the soft brown blanket over his legs and

belly. “Make sure you bring the tea. And the honey pot… And the jam.”

 

“As you command.” Thorin grinned at him, placed a small kiss on his forehead, and left briskly.

 

Bilbo raised a hand to his forehead, his face blushing hotly. He loved those little signs of Thorin’s affection. His hand on Bilbo’s round belly. His muscular arm around his back. A kiss on his shoulder.

 

Bilbo settled into the couch with a sigh, the blanket held up to his nose so he could breathe in Thorin’s scent. Gandalf should be arriving back in Rivendell that night or the next morning. He prayed that everyone that had left on the mission would come back safe and sound, but they were crossing over some of the most dangerous territory in Middle Earth. Thorin had been right when he had spoken of Gandalf’s rather miraculous ability to escape any situation alive and relatively unscathed. The elves, however…. Those that had been sent were some of the best marksmen Rivendell had to offer. Elrond and Arwen had expressed absolute confidence in their abilities, but the grim lines around the lord elf’s mouth and the similar lines around Arwen’s eyes spoke of worry for their friends and comrades.

 

Bilbo couldn’t help but feel responsible for their fate. He was the one who had found the ring, who had brought it out of the mountains and into the light of the world above. He had brought that cursed relic of Sauron to Rivendell. Shouldn’t he have been the one to take the ring to it’s destruction? He was certainly in no condition to do so right now; he would never have jeopardized the life of his child. Even after he delivered their child, he wasn’t sure he would have taken the journey. That would mean leaving his family behind for a very long time, possibly forever.

 

No…He could never leave his child or Thorin behind like that.

 

The door opened, and Thorin, Fili, and Kili entered, arms laden with serving trays and delicious smelling cakes.

 

“How’s our future nephew today?” Kili asked exuberantly as he swung his tray onto a near by table, nearly spilling the teapot and cups all over the floor. His uncle sent him a sharp look at his carelessness, but the young dwarrow missed it.

 

“He’s a little fussy today. I feel just fine, by the way. Thanks for asking.” Bilbo rolled his eyes as the boys threw themselves in armchairs, Fili using more care than his brother. Thorin sat down next to Bilbo on the couch, handing him a decorative plate and a small fork.

 

“Probably ready to be out of there,” Fili drawled, pulling absentmindedly on the blond braid coming down from his mustache. “Ready to see the world. Adventurous, like us.”

 

“Impatient, you mean,” Bilbo snorted, happily serving himself a couple scones and dribbling honey over them. “I do think the baby will be arriving very soon. Or at least I hope so. I can barely fit through doors as it is.”

 

“I can’t wait,” Kili grinned and rubbed his hands together gleefully. “I’m going to teach him archery. He’ll be the best little dwobbit archer in all Middle Earth.”

 

Bilbo choked on his last bite of scone at this, looking at Kili with wide eyes. Thorin hastily grabbed Bilbo’s tea and offered it to him, watching with some concern.

 

“What?!” Fili shouted indignantly, looking over at his brother with outraged eyes. “No, he will not! He’s going to learn the ways of the sword, like a proper dwarrow! Like his Papa and Daddy! And his soon to be favorite uncle.”

 

Thorin grunted his agreement at this, one hand rubbing over his hobbit’s back comfortingly. Bilbo wished his child did not need to learn how to use a weapon at all but if there was one thing that he had learned from the past year, it was that knowing how to defend yourself was an invaluable tool for survival. As for what weapon, well…he supposed he would just let Thorin decide what was best.

 

“If he learns to use a bow and arrow, he won’t even be in the thick of a fight! He could skewer his enemies before they get within striking distance!” Kili argued, looking at Bilbo imploringly.

 

“Yes, because you never use a bow and arrows in the middle of a fight.”

 

“Well....”

 

“And what about if the enemy sneaks up on him? A sword would be a much faster draw than a flimsy bow and arrow. “ Fili gave his brother a derisive look and leaned back as if the argument had been settled.

 

“But archery teaches accuracy and stealth and patience!” Kili shouted back.

 

“And swordplay teaches strength, endurance, balance, and—“

 

“That’s enough!” Bilbo intervened, tired of all the yelling. His stomach gave an unpleasant twinge, and his hand rubbed over it soothingly as he glared at the Durin brothers. “He will not be learning any sort of weaponry for a few years anyway, so there’s no use fighting about it now. Not that either of you have any say whatsoever.”

 

Fili and Kili opened their mouths as if to argue some more, but Thorin gave them a glare that would have cowed even Dwalin. “Bilbo’s right. It is pointless to fight over this. Not to mention your fighting could have upset Bilbo and had a negative effect on his health.”

 

“Now, that’s a little—“ Bilbo tried to interrupt, a little miffed that he was being portrayed as being so fragile that he cannot even handle a small argument.

 

“Also, there’s no reason why the child can’t learn more than one style of weaponry. The versatile warrior battles longest.” Thorin continued over Bilbo’s protests, giving his nephews a small smile.

 

They accepted this with grins of excitement, and breakfast continued quite peacefully from that moment on. Fili and Kili ran off to find Dwalin, no doubt boast about how they would be teaching the next Durin prince. Thorin sat at a desk in the study of Bilbo’s living area and planned to look over a few letters from his sister and advisors from Erebor. He encouraged his hobbit to rest for a while, seeing his bright green eyes drowsy with comfort. Despite having woken up only a few hours before, Bilbo was convinced to take a nap after breakfast, lulled to sleep by the warmth of good tea and a full stomach.

 

****************

 

It was late afternoon before Bilbo opened his eyes again, and this was due to the large warm hand brushing back the curls from his face. Blinking sleepily, he looked up to see Thorin sitting on the edge of his bed, beaming happily. He said something to Bilbo quietly, but his sleep-fogged brain didn’t catch it quick enough.

 

“What?” He asked while snuggling down into his blankets again.

 

“Gandalf and the elves. They’re back.” Thorin said, smiling widely.

 

Bilbo blinked at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, before he let out a shout of realization and excitement. He struggled to throw off the covers of his bed and stand up, Thorin hastily trying to help untangle him from the blankets.

 

“Are they all alright? Were they successful?” He asked quickly as he tried to wiggle his feet into his sandals without having to tie them on. He was sure his hair was a mess and his clothes were all wrinkled, but none of that mattered as much as Gandalf and the others returning.

 

“A few of the elves are a little worse for wear, and Gandalf has a few burns, but they are alive. And triumphant.” Thorin bent over and fit Bilbo’s feet into his sandals with gentle hands.

 

“That’s fantastic! Where are they?! In the courtyard?” Bilbo tried to head for the door quickly, nearly falling over in his haste.

 

“Bilbo,” Thorin called his name sternly, wrapping his arm firmly around the hobbit’s waist. “I know you’re excited, but you’re still—“

 

“Yes, yes, alright.” Bilbo heeded the request, allowing Thorin to guide him through his rooms and out into the hall. He tried to push them a little faster, but his ankles had already begun to protest their burden.

 

“You said Gandalf had a few burns? What happened?” Bilbo fired off the questions quickly, wanting to know what all had happened on the trip, but Thorin just chuckled indulgently.

 

“We’re almost there. I think Gandalf would much prefer to tell his tale than I would. Besides, I don’t have the full story either. Once they landed, I came to get you.”

 

Bilbo huffed but gave no other protest, choosing to look out onto the approaching courtyard.

 

The eagles must have already taken leave of Rivendell, for there were no more giant birds to be seen around the large grass enclosure. A large crowd of elves were gathered there, some talking in large groups, others sitting along the stairs and walls. Bilbo could see a few getting medical treatment near the center of the clearing, along with a tall man in a gray cloak and pointed hat talking with Lord Elrond.

 

“Gandalf!” Bilbo shouted, the relief obvious in his voice as he and Thorin made their way through the mass of elves.

 

The old wizard looked up at this and gave a smile in return. “Bilbo, my dear hobbit! You look fit to burst!”

 

Not even this comment about his size was enough to drag the smile from Bilbo’s face. Gandalf knelt down just in time to receive the hobbit’s exuberant hug, and Bilbo could feel the chuckles shaking his body. Goodness, it was so great to know his friend was safe again! He held on tightly for a few moments longer before he pulled away to inspect the old wizard. There were a few blackened circles on his long gray robe, and his beard was a little singed, but otherwise Gandalf was as whole and hearty as he had always been.

 

“Well, how was the trip? And how did you get these burn marks?” Bilbo questioned, fixing Gandalf with a demanding eye.

 

“Well, there was a lot more activity than we had expected there to be, “ Gandalf stroked his beard, frowning when his fingers grasped at air where an inch or so had been burned off. “For the most part, we rode higher than the creatures down below could perceive. A great many orcs could be seen down below. Certainly we knew that their population would have recovered by now, but so many…” He shared a dark look with Lord Elrond. “Besides that, the only real trouble that we ran into was after I chucked that blasted ring into the fires of Mount Doom. The whole mountain exploded! Dreadful mess. Burned a few of the eagles as well.  Showering sparks and molten earth raining down. The orcs were too busy escaping a fiery death to bother with the large eagles and elves flying overhead. Simple trip overall.” He finished with a satisfied smile on his wizened face.

 

“Well!” Bilbo said, rather shocked at how easy Gandalf made it sound. “Well, that’s great, then.”

 

“And the other little venture was equally successful.” Gandalf added with a sly look in Thorin’s direction.

 

“Other venture?” Bilbo turned to look at Thorin questioningly. “What ‘other venture’?”

 

Thorin nodded his thanks at Gandalf, before he turned to look hesitantly at his pregnant hobbit. He stepped forward and took Bilbo’s smaller hands into his own, drawing in a deep breath for courage. His little love was looking up at him with bright curious eyes, a small blush forming upon his cheeks.

 

“Bilbo…” Thorin began, his deep blue eyes gazing intently into the hobbit’s. “These past few months have been…just incredible. That you allowed me to be with you again…that you gave me a second chance after everything I did…it’s just…I’m so thankful. For everything.”

 

Bilbo felt his heart clench at the emotion thick in the dwarrow’s voice, and he wondered exactly what he had asked Gandalf to do that would cause such a reaction. He had not seen such an open display of emotion from Thorin since the night had had arrived in Rivendell and apologized to him.

 

“This time together has made me realize,” Thorin continued, his handsome face tightening. “that being with you, seeing you everyday, talking with you…holding you close and caring for. It is all that I wish for in all of Middle Earth. I want to spend the rest of my life with you and our children. I love you, my dear hobbit.”

 

Tears filled Bilbo’s eyes at this, and he could see that Thorin’s eyes had also taken on a wet gleam.

 

“Thorin…” Bilbo began to respond, wanting his dwarrow to know that he felt the same, but Thorin tightened his grip on the hobbit’s hands, wordlessly asking him to hold his words for a bit longer.

 

“And it is because of this love, that I feared returning to Erebor together.” Thorin’s voice became rougher with his loosening control on his emotions. “Before, I had never imagined that a mere rock could take such a firm and vicious hold over me that my eyes could no longer perceive my loved ones from enemies. And I could not bear the thought that it could happen again, that gold lust would cause me to spurn you and our child after our return…And I could see a similar fear in you as well, Bilbo.”

 

Bilbo looked away then as his expression twisted into one of sadness and no small amount of self-reproach. He could not help to fear the outcome of which Thorin spoke, but he hated himself for not being able to trust in the dwarrow that he loved.

 

A warm calloused hand cupped his cheek and drew his face upward, gently forcing him to meet Thorin’s eyes. His dwarrow’s deep blue eyes were overflowing with his love, and Bilbo could only return the same, his hazel eyes watering as he gave him a small smile.

 

“And so, I asked Gandalf to carry the Arkenstone with him to Mount Doom and to destroy it with the ring.”

 

Shock caused a gasp to leave Bilbo’s throat as he stared up at Thorin with wide eyes. “The-the Arkenstone?! You asked him to… and he…but it’s.... You had Gandalf destroy the Arkenstone?! _For me?!”_

 

Thorin grinned at him, chuckling quietly at his hobbit’s dumbfounded expression.

 

“For us,” He amended, placing his other hand on Bilbo’s burgeoning middle. “ _All_ of us.”

 

Bilbo could only stare up at him in awe, feeling his love for this dwarrow welling up inside him like a tsunami. “But it’s your family’s…”

 

“Curse.” Thorin supplied, his thumb rubbing soothingly along Bilbo’s jaw. “I knew that so long as the Arkenstone still existed, it would hang over us like a storm cloud, insidiously pervading our lives and happiness. Now we can-“

 

But he was unable to finish his sentence as the short pregnant hobbit threw himself into his arms, his slender arms reaching around Thorin’s wide shoulders and crashing his lips onto his own. He was allowed about a moment of shock before a small pink tongue traced along the seam of his lips, which opened automatically under the slight pressure. He recovered quickly and wrapped his muscled arms around the smaller form of his hobbit, taking care to not crush the swell of his belly against him.

 

Their lips meshed and locked together, warm mouths and wet tongues dancing, sending fiery sparks through their nerves. Small whimpers escaped from Bilbo’s mouth, forcing a grunt from the dwarrow entangled around him as a hot throbbing sensation took over his groin. The world around them seemed to disappear as they became reacquainted with the taste of one another until a soft, sheepish cough interrupted them.

 

Thorin pulled away reluctantly, nearly surging forward once more when he caught sight of the dazed and lustful look in his hobbit’s eyes. That cough, which he suspected came from Gandalf, had forced him to remember that they were standing in a crowded courtyard filed with elves, dwarrows, and one wizard, most of whom would not hesitate to tease them mercilessly for this.

 

Bilbo, however, continued to ignore their presence for a bit longer and reached a hand up to hold Thorin’s face close to his. His lovely hazel eyes were shining with a vibrance that would make the sun envious.

 

“I love you too, Thorin,” He whispered softly, a tremulous smile on his sweet face. “I—“

 

A pained expression suddenly twisted his face, and he lurched forward as his right arm curled around his abdomen, his left arm holding Thorin’s in a stranglehold to steady himself. The dwarrow in question felt instantly alarmed, his arms reaching forward to support his hobbit as he nearly collapsed onto the grass.

 

“Bilbo? Bilbo, what’s wrong?” He asked worriedly, lowering his love gently onto the grass as his expression began to unwind from its stricken paleness.

 

Bilbo sagged onto the ground with some relief, rubbing at his belly soothingly. A pain that sharp and intense could only mean one thing.

 

He was heading into labor.

 

_How’s that for perfect timing_? He thought with no small amount of fear and anxiety. Right as the last of his fears about truly joining with Thorin had been abolished, the baby decided it was time to arrive.

 

He looked up at Thorin and gave him a half-smile, his happiness and worry shining through his eyes. “I think it’s time.”

 

Thorin’s face blanked with shock. “Time?” He asked, his voice sounding rather faint.

 

“For the baby to arrive, idiotic dwarrow,” Arwen appeared by Bilbo’s side in a flash of long mahogany hair and fine blue clothing. She gave the elves around her a sharp commanding look, under which they quickly scattered out of the way. She prompted Bilbo to stand again, directing her imperious gaze unto Thorin when the hobbit showed signs of needing help.

 

This quickly brought Thorin from his shocked daze, and he leaned forward to gather the hobbit up into his arms, his strong arms having little difficulty with the weight.

 

“Quickly, we must get to the healing rooms. Adar, you are coming, yes?” Arwen asked, motioning for Thorin to go ahead and make their way down the hallway.

 

Lord Elrond had been rather shocked himself at all the surprises of the day. Gandalf and the others’ return, hearing that the Arkenstone had been destroyed at the behest of Thorin, Bilbo and the dwarrow kissing rather passionately in the middle of the courtyard, and now the baby would be arriving. What a busy day!

 

He turned to his beautiful daughter with a delighted smile and gathered up the front of his robes in his hands so that he could walk faster. “Of course, my dear. As if I would miss the birth of such a miracle!”

 

Ensconced in Thorin’s arms, Bilbo sighed with relief. He certainly trusted Arwen to take care of him and the baby perfectly, but he felt significantly better to hear that one of the greatest healers in all of Middle Earth would be overseeing things as well.  Against his shoulder, he could feel the frantic pumping of Thorin’s heart as he strode quickly down the corridor, a look of near panic on his face. His eyes kept darting down to meet Bilbo’s, as if ascertaining that the hobbit was indeed all right and not writhing in pain.

 

Bilbo opened his mouth as if to reassure him but was cut off as Arwen’s clear voice echoed through the air, shouting orders at the three elves that were dashing ahead of them to prepare the room. The room that he would have a baby in.

 

Bilbo felt a sudden burst of nausea at that thought.

 

They reached the rooms sooner that Bilbo felt he was ready for, and Thorin lowered him gently onto a bed and hastily began to pile pillows under his back and head for comfort.

 

With clean and certain professionalism, Arwen went about the process of undressing him from the waist down, bunching his tunic around his hips and draping a long white cloth across his thighs for modesty.

 

Another fierce wave of pain swept through Bilbo, and a small grunt escaped his lips as his hand tightened impossibly on Thorin’s.

 

“There’s still some time before we must proceed,” Arwen talked to him with a firm but encouraging tone. She handed him a small cup with a softly steaming liquid inside. “Here. This is a small medicinal brew that will help with the pain.”

 

Bilbo took the cup gratefully and proceeded to down the sour tasting potion, heedless of the slight burn in his mouth and throat from the heat of it.

 

As they waited for the time to begin, Arwen explained the ingredients and properties of all the concoctions she was using, presumably to distract Bilbo from the impending birth and from the ever-increasing waves of pain wracking his small body. Thorin stood next to him, still as a statue, holding his hand tightly and providing his silent support, though his fear and anxiety were obvious in his eyes. Lord Elrond sat in a chair opposite Thorin on the other side of the bed and appeared for all the world relaxed and calm, as though a hobbit was not about to give birth next to him.

 

And then, a while later, it became clear that it was time to begin. Bilbo already felt exhausted and fed up with the cycling pain running through his body, and every bout of contractions brought short yells and shouts of expletives from his mouth. Arwen and Elrond remained pillars of calm and surety, both no posed around the bottom of Bilbo’s bed, something Bilbo would no doubt be extremely embarrassed about once this was all over.

 

Thorin, in the face of Bilbo’s pain and exhaustion, had begun to bombard the two elves with anxious demands until Arwen finally had to kick him out of the delivery room in order to concentrate.

 

And so, Balin, Dwalin, Fili, and Kili were forced to deal with a furiously worried and impatient Thorin as they waited outside the healing rooms.

 

Balin, for his part, watched his king pace around the door leading to where his hobbit was giving birth to their child with some bemusement. Who would have thought that all those months ago, when he had watched Bilbo leave Erebor heartbroken and betrayed, that events would end up like this? That they would be sitting anxiously outside the healing rooms of an elven stronghold waiting to hear news of Bilbo and their child, the latter whom had despite all past events had forgiven the dwarrow king and had fallen in love with him again?

 

Balin was ever grateful that everything had worked out in the end. He had feared that his king, the dwarrow he had helped raise from birth, would live out the remainder of his days loveless and heartless. He had held a similar fear for the young hobbit he had come to know and love over their past journey.

 

_But everything is right between them again_ , He thought with relief. _And a child soon, too. Good gracious_ …

 

Leaning his head back against the wall, Balin sent up a silent prayer that they would have some peace and happiness in the coming days. He had had quite enough adventure for some time.

 

After what felt like a lifetime, the door to the healing rooms opened, and Lord Elrond stepped out, his face shining with sweat and his hair drawn back from his face. Despite the fatigue clearly visible in his stance, the elf lord was smiling brightly.

 

“Are you ready to see your child, Thorin Oakenshield?” He asked, his deep voice loud in the stillness of the night.

 

Thorin managed a tight nod, as his mouth seemed unable to form words. He strode quickly into the room, freezing in shock when he heard the high whining cry of a baby ahead of him. His heart lodged in his throat, the dwarrow continued forward and brushed back a curtain he could not remember being there before.

 

Bilbo was slumped down against his pillows, his face and body drenched in sweat. His curly hair clung wetly to his cheeks and neck, and his eyes were closed. He was covered in white blankets, and no trace of the blood that had surely spilled during the birth was present. For a horrifying moment, Thorin watched for some sign that his hobbit was alive, that he had made it through the arduous procedure. He was reassured a second later by the rise and fall of Bilbo’s chest under the blankets of his bed, and he felt all of his fears and anxiety leave him in a rush, leaving behind a sweet calmness in their wake.

 

A small cry drew his attention from his sleeping hobbit, and Thorin turned with dawning excitement to look at the end of the bed.

 

Arwen stood facing him, her own face covered in a sheen of sweat but filled with an incredible amount of tenderness as she looked down at the small bundle in her arms.

 

He walked toward her slowly, his entire world focused on the small wriggling bundle in the elf’s arms. She looked up at his approach, and her face tightened minutely, but not even Arwen could bring herself to glare at the dwarrow right then as he approached his child just born into the world.

 

She lifted the baby wrapped in soft green blankets into his arms, and he was finally able to see the tiny face of his little child. His eyes were still scrunched up tightly, his face still a light red shade, his little arm not ensconced in the blankets still grasped at the air and waved around fussily. But Thorin had never seen such a beautiful little baby in all of his long life.

 

Arwen shifted a little, drawing his notice briefly from the miracle in his arms. The look she gave him was carefully neutral before her lips broke into a small smile.

 

“Congratulations, Thorin Oakenshield. You have been blessed with a lovely baby boy.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Yes, a baby boy. :3 Thank you so much for reading and hanging in there! Again, there will be an epilogue, so that we can all see the adorableness of that baby when he’s a little bit older. ;D And the adorableness of Thorin and Bilbo in their settled life!


	14. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: So, here’s the short epilogue. :D Hard to believe this little fic I started in March is finally coming to a close. You get to meet the little boy! :D I wanted to do something a little original about his name, though I do love the names Frerin and Thrain. So, let me know what you think! And thank you all so much! You’ve been wonderful. :D I’m honored that you chose to read my story to the end.

Erebor was not as cold and unfriendly a place as Bilbo had perceived it all those months ago. Its towering walls of bluish gray granite, steeped with cobwebs and the occasional scorch marks, had felt so unfamiliar and foreign to the hobbit that a shiver would pass down his spine whenever he had ventured through them after the initial reclaiming of the Lonely Mountain. Deprived of any life or warmth, the seemingly never-ending corridors, cavernous dining hall, and dangerously open staircases had made Bilbo near desperate for the cozy tunnels, carpeted floors, and warm colored rooms of Bag End. Erebor had seemed like the last place he would ever wish to make a home of or start a family in.

 

When he had returned to Erebor three and a half years ago, dwarf company and five month old baby in tow, he had still had his doubts. However, the dwarrows of the Lonely Mountain had not been idle. The brilliant stonewalls had been polished and evenly decorated with etchings, works of metal or gold, and the occasional tapestry. Candles and light fixtures had been placed liberally in every nook and cranny, making the once chilly and dark fortress warm with the golden light of fire and the reassuring murmur of other inhabitants.

 

Thorin’s sister Dis had also made several aesthetic changes, such as the beautiful carvings on many of the kingdoms pillars that depicted various battles, adventures, and tales. Their own great adventure was depicted quite extensively on the walls of the dining hall, which had seemed impossibly large to Bilbo when he had first been shown it, but considering the amount of dwarrows that lived in Erebor, he supposed he shouldn’t be too surprised. She had also taken the liberty of destroying the original throne of the king, with completely indifference to her elder brother’s opinion, and had begun the construction of two identical seats upon which Thorin and Bilbo could sit together and deal with the day to day needs of the kingdom, of which there were many during that this time.

 

When Thorin had first seen what she had done, he had been completely shocked and rather angry at her insolence, but he approved the idea as it was one he had been planning to do himself. When Bilbo thought of sitting in that chair and helping Thorin rule over an entire kingdom of dwarrows, he felt as nauseous as he had during his first trimester.

 

Bilbo had initially been quite worried about meeting Thorin’s sister, whom he had heard much about from his dwarf and his nephews. He had heard that she was a stern and fearsome taskmaster that would sooner paddle viciously you with a wooden mallet than she would allow you to neglect any chores or work. When he had introduced himself, his son sleeping in his arms and hair and face a mess from travel, she had laughed loudly at his formality and had instantly begun to engage him in conversation about the many embarrassing things her brother had done in his youth, with many ascertains interspersed in her amusing stories that Bilbo could always come to her when he experienced difficulties with Thorin.

 

Thorin had flushed bright red, a color the hobbit had never seen his face take on, and had attempted to usher Bilbo and the sleeping babe quickly away from Dis by guiding them to the royal corridor and their private rooms, which had been beautifully furnished. Though it must have been quite difficult to manage, Dis and a few other members of the original Company had banded together and created many pieces of furniture that mimicked those that had been in Bilbo’s home.

 

There were tasteful wooden desks and chest of drawers, bookshelves and armchairs, a finely crafted table and chairs set on the balcony connecting to their living room that looked suspiciously (to Thorin, at least) like Elven craftsmanship. In their bedroom was a bed so large and covered in silken sheets and pillows that Bilbo was quite sure that at least eight dwarrows could sleep comfortably on it. Not that there would ever be eight dwarrows on it. That would be ridiculous and highly improper.

 

A lovely wooden crib had been set up beside the gigantic bed, a small mattress and collection of soft blankets and pillows resting inside. The sight had brought tears to Bilbo’s eyes, which he blamed on the exhaustion and leftover hormones.

 

In their private rooms, Bilbo felt completely at home and quite content.

 

There was still one thing that had been a piece of his life in the Shire that he had truly missed. His garden and the open fields and grass-covered hills, so bright and green and filled with natural light.

 

Sunlight was rather hard to come by in Erebor, seeing as one had to leave the mountain in order to feel grass beneath their toes and wind through their hair. Only a few of the royal chambers had small balconies and windows, and those were placed in protected fissures along the mountain’s rock shell.

 

It had taken ages for Thorin to pry this secret longing from the hobbit’s mouth, as Bilbo had thought his wish was rather selfish and unnecessary, not to mention near impossible. Thorin had put an incredible amount of effort into making this wish a reality, consulting his advisors, touring all of the serviceable parts of the fortress, and learning from Bilbo the necessities of a garden and greenery. And in an unprecedented addition to a dwarven fortress, he had created a small courtyard, accessible through the royal corridor, that was relatively safe, completely usable, and full of sunlight and natural earth. Bilbo, of course, had rewarded him handsomely (and carnally) for his consideration and work, and for days afterward, the King of Erebor had strode through the halls and went about his business with the largest smile on his face that anyone had ever seen.

 

Bilbo thought about all of this as he stood in that very courtyard, his feet treading blissfully on the grass flourishing there as he watered the tomato, cucumber, and various other vegetable plants he had raised there. He could hear the faint murmurs of activity coming from the recovering city of man, Dale, to the right of the courtyard’s placement on the mountain, and he hummed along with the sounds of music coming to him along the wind.

 

He was happier now than he had ever been as the quiet, scholarly and eccentric bachelor of the Shire, even as he was surrounded by boisterous dwarrows and living in a stone fortress. These days, where he would wake up next to his dwarf husband, cuddling and loving each other until their little son cried to be let out of his bed, have breakfast together with Fili, Kili, Dis, and the Company, teach and play with his son, help Thorin with the daily needs of the kingdom, and then spend the afternoons reading to his son and making snacks for everyone, eating dinner together again, making love and falling asleep beside Thorin…these days were just the best of his life!

 

And they would be getting even better rather soon.

 

“Daddy!”

 

The high childish voice of his son Thrilrin echoed through the royal corridor and through the open doors of the courtyard, and Bilbo could hear the fast pitter patter of his feet on the stone floors. He turned around, a smile automatically appearing on his face at the presence of his little boy, and he could see little Thrilrin as he ran closer, shiny black curls bouncing and cheeks flushed a healthy pink.

 

His son was, according to Thorin, Fili, and Kili, the fastest little dwarf that had ever lived under the mountain, which Bilbo liked to attribute proudly to his hobbit genes. Though his son had received Thorin’s characteristics more prominently, there were a few visible traces of Bilbo in little Thrilrin, like his button nose, curly hair, hazel eyes, and nimble feet, which he rarely covered like Bilbo.

 

Today, Bilbo had dressed him in the deep blues of the Durin line, though the style of his clothes was more hobbit-like than dwarf. His dark trousers had been rolled up his thin legs to a little below his knees, his matching navy blue vest lined with silver trim was open and exposing the shiny mithril vest beneath, under which laid a light blue cotton shirt with sleeves that ended just below his knobby elbows. Bilbo had insisted that the mithril vest be worn at all times when he was not with himself or Thorin, and though he had been teased for his overprotectiveness, the rule had always been observed. It was not that he didn’t trust the other dwarrows or Fili and Kili, who played most often with Thrilrin, but mistakes and accidents could and undoubtedly would happen, and though his son was a dwarf, he was still a child running around in the sometimes dangerous dwarven fortress.

 

“Daddy! Daddy! Kili and Fili skipped out on their princely lessons to steal biscuits from the Good Behavior jar in the kitchen!” Thrilrin shouted excitedly, panting from his run. He leaned his curly, dark-haired head against his Daddy’s hip and looked up with excited hazel eyes.

 

“That is a blatant falsehood!”

 

Bilbo turned back to the hallway as Kili and Fili ran towards them, panting much heavier than Thrilrin had. Bilbo’s mouth twitched in amusement as they reached the entrance and bent double, Fili holding out a hand to signal a brief rest.

 

“No, it’s not!” Thrilrin laughed loudly, pointing a small finger at the front of their shirts. “You still have crumbs all down your front!”

 

As one, the twins looked down at their finely sewn shirts and trousers, and wiped hastily at the sprinkle of biscuit crumbs that were indeed all over themselves. For a moment, they both looked a little sheepish, but Kili grinned at his adoptive uncle, slinging an arm behind his head lazily to scratch at a spot on his back.

 

“Well, we’ve been studying hard all morning. We deserve a little reward for all our time and effort,” He asserted, and the dwarf prince settled himself down onto the ground to relax.

 

Fili still continued to look rather sheepish, which told Bilbo that the actual perpetrator of the idea to skip lessons and eat cookies had been his brother. As the heir, Fili usually held himself to a much stricter standard than his brother, but it would be a long time before he had to actually take command of the kingdom. Thus, he was occasionally susceptible to Kili’s frequent laziness, if only to give himself a break for a while.

 

“It’s well past lunch time, which means you should be learning directly from your Uncle and Balin as he settles disputes of the kingdom in the afternoon,” Bilbo replied, looking at them knowingly. “I hope your nap and biscuit break is worth the punishment you will undoubtedly receive from Thorin. He’ll probably sentence you to train with Dwalin or read texts with Balin.”

 

Fili grimaced at that as he unbuckled his swords from his belt and sat down next to his brother who waved away the threat of punishment carelessly.

 

“If it happens, it happens. And anyway, this gives Uncle Thorin a reason to take a break. I have no idea how he sits still and listens to all these complaints every day! It’s awful, and I hate doing it…. How long do you think it will take him to find us?” He turned to his brother, dark braids trailing over his shoulder and falling with a small tinkling sound onto the grass.

 

“Not long at all,” A deep voice called from the open door.

 

Bilbo looked up from the mischievous brothers to see his dwarf, clad in the magnificent finery of the king, his heavy blue robes and furs shifting against the powerful strides of his legs. Thorin wore the dwarven crown on his head regally, the bright gold and jeweled adornment mixing seamlessly with the grey-streaked black hair and beaded braids. His face was as ruggedly handsome as the day they had first met, but now there was a happiness in those icy blue eyes and a thick beard now encased his chin, with silver and sapphire beads holding the intricate braids in place.

 

“Papa!” Thrilrin shouted happily, and he dashed toward Thorin, jumping easily into his arms and wrapping his own around his father’s in welcome. Thorin accepted his added weight easily and chuckled into the curly mass of Thrilrin’s hair.

 

“And how is my dwarfling today? Not been bothering your Daddy too much, I hope. He is a bit more fragile now than before.” He looked at his son with a stern but loving eye, casting an amused look over at Bilbo’s huff.

 

“I’m fine! And I just came to tell Daddy that Fili and Kili stole from the biscuit jar again and skipped lessons,” Thrilrin leaned closer to his Papa as he whispered, still loud enough for the others to hear, “An’ I remembered that I’m not supposed to tackle Daddy anymore. Do I get a biscuit from the Good Behavior jar too?”

 

He looked up at Thorin with large and hopeful eyes and was rewarded with a grin and a nod. “After supper, you can have two extra biscuits. Good work, Thrilrin.”

 

The little dwarfling beamed proudly and squirmed out of his father’s arms to run around the courtyard excitedly.

 

“Two biscuits, Thorin?” Bilbo looked at his dwarf in playful chastisement, “You know that Bombur is making a ridiculous amount of cakes tonight, don’t you?”

 

“That I do,” He affirmed, stepping over his youngest nephew none-to-gently and wrapping a thickly muscled arm around his hobbit. “But we’ll need some way to prevent our little dwarfling from becoming like these two here, and the promise extra biscuits seems to be working for now.”

 

Fili looked as if to protest, but at that moment Kili sprung up from his back on the grass and wrestled Thrilrin to the ground, tickling him mercilessly and causing great peals of laughter to rend the air.

 

“Not so hard, Kili!” Bilbo went to reprimand, only to be ignored as Fili helped Thrilrin gang up on his brother.

 

“And how are you today, my hobbit?” Thorin murmured in his ear, and he kissed Bilbo soundly when the hobbit turned his face towards him.

 

To the shock of a majority of the kingdom, Thorin was very open about his relationship with Bilbo. He would kiss him in the hallways, in the throne room, at dinner. He would hold Bilbo’s hand as they listened to the daily business of the kingdom on the twin thrones. He would lean out of his chair and whisper things into the hobbit’s ear that would turn his face bright red at the dinner table. There had never been a moment where Thorin had tried to hide his affection for his lovable hobbit, even when foreign dignitaries would visit and look upon them with confusion and occasionally disgust.

 

Nowadays, he often stood behind Bilbo, with his arms wrapped around him tightly, one broad hand placed protectively over the newly burgeoning mound of the hobbit’s stomach. After Thrilrin’s birth, there had been quite some worry that he would not be fertile any longer, which certainly saddened them both, though they were absolutely blissful and excited over the birth of their little son. A few weeks passed, and Lord Elrond and Arwen (who became annual visitors of the Lonely Mountain) had inspected Bilbo thoroughly and fortunately saw no reason why he could not have another child.

 

That is not to say that Bilbo had hopped into bed the next second with Thorin, eager to have another child (though Thorin had looked on longingly). He insisted they wait until Thrilrin had grown and their family had settled in Erebor before they would even discuss it. A people highly fertile, hobbits had their own ways of preventing pregnancy while still enjoying physical pleasures, and so Bilbo utilized this for the past few years.

 

Now, though, they finally felt the time was right, and true to his species, Bilbo had become pregnant barely a week after he had stopped taking the herbal remedies. And they could not be more excited!

 

“Ewwwww! Uncle Thorin and Uncle Bilbo are kissing!” Kili shouted immaturely from across the little courtyard, and Bilbo turned away from his dwarf to give him an annoyed look. His brother looked equally annoyed, reaching over to shove his shoulder.

 

Thrilrin just looked at him with confusion. His Daddy and Papa did that all the time, so what was the problem?

 

Kili noticed this and leaned forward with a sly glint in his eyes. “You know what this means, right? You’re going to have a baby brother soon.”

 

“What?” Thrilrin questioned loudly, looking over at his parents. “What do you mean?”

 

“Well,” Kili began taking his little cousin’s hand, smiling at his curious eyes, and beginning to walk rather quickly toward the open doors of the hallway, his brother and uncles looking on suspiciously. “Why don’t I explain to you where babies come from? You see…”

 

“What!?” Bilbo shouted after him, attempting to chase after him as he saw Kili hoist Thrilrin onto his pack and begin running away, his voice laughingly chattering away. “Kili! Don’t you dare—He’s too young for—Why, you!”

 

“Fili.” Thorin gave his nephew a commanding look to which Fili sprinted after his brother to lessen the hobbit’s righteous anger. Bilbo’s punishments were always worse than anything Dwalin or Balin gave them.

 

Thorin held Bilbo comfortably as the frazzled hobbit simmered down, content to hold his love in his arms and feel the wind against his face. Bilbo leaned back against him as well, his hands joining Thorin’s on the small swell of his belly.

 

“Good lord, I hope the next one loves to read more then roughhouse with those two,” Bilbo sighed wistfully, even knowing he wouldn’t change a single thing about his exuberant son or nephews.

 

Thorin hummed in agreement, completely content with their lives and excited for the future. He would never have believed that when he set out to reclaim Erebor, he would fall in love with a hobbit of the Shire and start a family with him if he had been told this on the eve of his quest. Now he couldn’t imagine a single day without his hobbit, his little son, and their child on the way. He hoped that every day until he died would be like this one spent with his husband and children, his sister and nephews. If that meant getting along with the elves and humans, spreading around the wealth and skill of his people, and forming treaties to prevent war, then he would do it without hesitation.

 

Anything for his hobbit and his growing family.

 

As he held Bilbo close and thought lazily on the future, he hoped that they would have at least three more children to love and raise. And he rather hoped the next one would be a girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there’s the end! :D I hope you have enjoyed this little story. It’s been a great learning experience for me, especially as this is my first real fanfic. I hope you liked this epilogue and little Thrilrin. :3 I hope to write more like this in the future!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and hanging in there through my dry spells. :P


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